From early morning-nonsense <br />With tubs and troughs and strain, <br />With dampness in the evening <br />And sunsets in the rain. <br /> <br />Deep sighing of the darkness <br />And choking swallowed tears, <br />A railway engine's calling <br />Down from the sixteenth verst. <br /> <br />Outside and in the garden <br />A short fast-darkening day; <br />Small breakages and losses <br />In true September way. <br /> <br />In daytime autumn's vastness <br />Beyond the stream is rent <br />By wailing in the graveyard, <br />By anguish and lament. <br /> <br />But when the widow's sobbing <br />Is carried from the bank, <br />With all my blood I'm with her <br />And see my death point-blank. <br /> <br />As every year I see it <br />Out of the hall downstairs, <br />The long-delayed approaching <br />Of this my final year. <br /> <br />Through leaves in yellow terror, <br />Its way swept clear, I see <br />That winter from the hillside <br />Is staring down at me.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/false-alarm-4/
