“Along the pavement I will grind
A dust half sun, half glass. My deeds
In winter time the ceiling hears;
My verse the cold damp corner reads.
To window frames my garret room
Will bow, rehearsing verse, and prove
How folly, trouble, and adventure
Can, bursting, leapfrog to the roof.
The storms will rage for endless days
And waste my means and ends estranged;
I’ll suddenly remember suns
And find the world is long since changed.”
(from ‘About My Verses’, Poems by Boris Pasternak, tr, Eugene M. Kayden)
(((Colors of winter)))
(Fog, creeping in Montagne de Reims forest)
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