Boris Pasternak
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When Passion week started and Jesus
Hosannahs burst out at his entryAnd palm leaves were strewn in his way.But days grow more stern and more stormy.No love can men’s hardness unbend;Their brows are contemptuously frowning,And now comes the postscript, the end.Grey, leaden and heavy, the heavensWere pressing on treetops and roofs.The Pharisees, fawning like foxes,Were secretly searching for proofs.The lords of…
The Drowsy Garden
The drowsy garden scatters insectsBronze as the ash from braziers blown.Level with me and with my candle,Hang flowering worlds, their leaves full-grown.As into some unheard-of dogmaI move across into this night,Where a worn poplar age has grizzledScreens the moon’s strip of fallow light,Where the pond lies, an open secret,Where apple bloom is surf and sigh,And…
Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 3, 2010
