<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=352774" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The spring-it had simply been you</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The spring-it had simply been you,<br>And so, to a certain extent,<br>The summer; but autumn-this scandalous blue<br>Of wallpaper? Rubbish and felt?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">They lead an old horse to the knacker's yard.<br>His wistful, short-breathing nostrils<br>Are listening: wet camomile and moss,<br>Or maybe a whiff of horsemeat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Imbibe with your lips and the blaze of your eyes<br>The transparent days' tear-stained vagueness,<br>Like the drift of an empty bottle of scent,<br>Its nostalgic lingering fragrance.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To sleep, not to argue. Despairingly<br>To sleep. Not to open the window<br>Where last summer, in frenzy, July<br>Was burning and glowing like jasper,<br>And melting the glass, and was pairing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The same crimson dragonflies,<br>Which now, on their nuptial beds,<br>Are deader and more transparent<br>Than crumbled dry cigarettes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How sleepy and chilly are windows<br>In the twilight hours of frost.<br>Dry vitriol oil. At the bottom,<br>A gnat, and expired wasps.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How draughty the north is. How ruffled<br>And sulky… O whirlwind, drive,<br>Feel, search all the crannies and hollows,<br>Find me my song alive!</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> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=352774" data-title="The spring-it had simply been you de Boris Pasternak" data-description="The spring-it had simply been you, And so, to a certain extent, The summer; but autumn-this scandalous blue Of wallpaper? Rubbish and felt? They lead an old horse to the knacker's yard. His wistful, short-breathing nostrils Are listening: wet cam..."></div> </div> </div>

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