Boris Pasternak

In the lifetime of many days,
I hold in mind the days of  ‘solstice’,
And every one was in his way,
And every – midst themselves not noticed.

And, link by link, the whole chain
Was self-assembled by collecting 
Just those days, exclusive, when
We dream that time is stopped and waiting.

I do recall them one by one:
The winter to his first half go, 
The road’s wet and roof is run,
And sun warms self on an ice-floe.

And they, in love, as in the dreams,
Stretch their body to another,
And in the height, on palms of trees,
Hot sweating pearl a starling-house.

And dozing watch-legs hang to fetch
Their meetings on the dial-faces
And day is longer than all age,
And no end for warm embraces.     


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, May, 2001