Ah, how I love it in these first few days, <br />Fresh from the forest and out of the snow, <br />Awkwardness obvious still in every bough, <br />When every silver thread lazily sways <br />And every cone begins slowly to glow <br />In candlelight—and the white sheet below <br />Hides its sore stump from our eyes. <br /> <br />It will not bat an eye if you heap gold <br />And jewels on it-this shyest of fays <br />In blue enamel and tinfoil enfolded <br />Creeps in your heart of hearts—and there it stays. <br />Ah, how I love it all in these first days, <br />All golden finery and silver shades! <br /> <br />All in the making-stars, flags, lanterns, flares, <br />There are no chocolates yet in bonbonnieres. <br />Even the candles are no candles—they <br />Look more like dull sticks of makeup by day. <br />This is an actress still lighting stage fright <br />In the tumult of her benefit night. <br />Ah, how I love her on this opening day, <br />Flushed in the coulisses before the play! <br /> <br />Apples to appletrees, and kicks to firtrees. <br />Only not this one—no kicks for the beauty. <br />She has a different purpose and duty. <br />She's the select one, receiver of favours. <br />Her evening party will go on forever. <br />Others may fear proverb s-this one does not. <br /> <br />Her fate is only a few firtrees' lot. <br />Golden and fiery, she will soar high, <br />Like an old prophet ascending the sky. <br /> <br />Ah, how I love it all in these first days, <br />When all the world chats and fusses and plays!<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-walts-with-a-tear-in-it/
