Is it only dirt you notice? <br />Does the thaw not catch your glance? <br />As a dapple-grey fine stallion <br />Does it not through ditches dance? <br /> <br />Is it only birds that chatter <br />In the blueness of the skies, <br />Sipping through the straws of sunrays <br />Lemon liturgies on ice? <br /> <br />Only look, and you will see it: <br />From the rooftops to the ground <br />Moscow, all day long, like Kitezh <br />Lies, in light-blue water drowned. <br /> <br />Why are all the roofs transparent <br />And the colours crystal-bright? <br />Bricks like rushes gently swaying, <br />Mornings rush into the night. <br /> <br />Like a bog the town is swampy <br />And the scabs of snow are rare. <br />February, like saturated <br />Cottonwool in spirits, flares. <br /> <br />This white flame wears out the garrets, <br />And the air, in the oblique <br />Interplace of twigs and birds, is <br />Naked, weightless and unique. <br /> <br />In such days the crowds of people <br />Knock you down; you are unknown, <br />Nameless; and your girl is with them, <br />But you, too, are not alone.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spring-fragment-3/
