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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352766" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Earth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Spring bursts violently<br>into Moscow houses.<br>Moths flutter about<br>crawl on summer hats,<br>and furs hide secretly.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pots of wallflowers and stock<br>stand, in the window, just,<br>of wooden second storeys,<br>the rooms breathe liberty,<br>the smell of attics is dust.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The street is friends<br>with the bleary glass,<br>and white night and sunset<br>at one, by the river, pass.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In the passage you’ll know<br>what’s going on below<br>and April’s casual flow<br>of words with drops of thaw.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It’s a thousand stories veiled<br>in a human sadness,<br>and twilight along the fence<br>grows chill with the tale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Outside, or snug at home<br>the same fire and hesitation:<br>everywhere air’s unsure.<br>The same cut willow twigs,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the same white swell of buds,<br>at crossroads, windows above,<br>in streets, and workshop-doors.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then why does the far horizon weep<br>in mist, and the soil smell bitter?<br>After all, it’s my calling, surely,<br>to see no distance is lonely,<br>and past the town boundary,<br>to see that earth doesn’t suffer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">That’s why in early spring<br>we meet, my friends and I,<br>and our evenings are – farewell documents,<br>our gatherings are – testaments,<br>so the secret stream of suffering<br>may warm the cold of life.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Boris+Pasternak">Boris Pasternak</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352766" data-title="The Earth de Boris Pasternak" data-description="Spring bursts violently
into Moscow houses.
Moths flutter about
crawl on summer hats,
and furs hide secretly.

Pots of wallflowers and stock
stand, in the window, just,
of wooden second storeys,
the rooms breathe liberty,
the smell of attics is du..."></div>
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