THE DREAM ~ BORIS PASTERNAK

I dreamt of autumn in the window’s twilight,

And you, a tipsy jesters’ throng amidst. ‘

And like a falcon, having stooped to slaughter,

My heart returned to settle on your wrist.

But time went on, grew old and deaf. Like thawing

Soft ice old silk decayed on easy chairs.

A bloated sunset from the garden painted

The glass with bloody red September tears.

But time grew old and deaf. And you, the loud one,

Quite suddenly were still. This broke a spell.

The dreaming ceased at once, as though in answer

To an abruptly silenced bell.

And I awakened. Dismal as the autumn

The dawn was dark. A stronger wind arose

To chase the racing birch trees on the skyline,

As from a running cart the streams of straws.

Boris Pasternak