The morning sun shows like a pillar <br />Of fire through smoke on frosty days. <br />As on a faulty snap, it cannot <br />Make out my features in the haze. <br /> <br />The distant trees will hardly see me <br />Until the sun at last can break <br />Out of the fog, and flash triumphant <br />Upon the meadows by the lake. <br /> <br />A passer-by in mist receding <br />Is recognized when he has passed. <br />You walk on hoarfrost-covered pathways <br />As though on mats of plaited bast. <br /> <br />The frost is covered up in gooseflesh, <br />The air is false like painted cheeks, <br />The earth is shivering, and sick of <br />Breathing potato-stalks for weeks.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/autumn-frost/
