By Boris Pasternak <br /> <br />There'll be no one at home... <br />Only twilight... And alone <br />The winter day in window's hole <br />With the curtains opened all. <br />Only flashes of wet snow, <br />Quickly moving as white moss... <br />Only roofs and only snow, <br />And besides that no one more... <br />And again there'll be a hoarfrost, <br />And again it'll twirl me fast <br />With the former year's sorrow, <br />With affairs of the past. <br />And again they'll pick me bitterly <br />With my fault and hitherto... <br />And a window will be squeezed there <br />With a grid of hungry wood. <br />Suddenly along the portiere <br />There'll run shivering of mind - <br />And a silence would be measured <br />By your steps of future life... <br />You will enter door in a white gown <br />And without complex cut, <br />In that simple dress's matter, <br />From which snowflakes are done.<br /><br />Lyudmila Purgina<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/b-pasternak-there-ll-be-no-one-at-home-transl-rus/
