A boat is beating in the breast of the lake. <br />Willows hang over, tickling and kissing <br />Neckline and knuckles and rowlocks-O wait, <br />This could have happened to anyone, listen! <br /> <br />This could be used in a song, to beguile. <br />This then would mean-the ashes of lilac, <br />Richness of dew-drenched and crushed camomile, <br />Bartering lips for a start after twilight. <br /> <br />This is-embracing the firmament; strong <br />Hercules holding it, clasping still fonder. <br />This then would mean-whole centuries long <br />Fortunes for nightingales' singing to squander.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/with-oars-at-rest/
