When Desdemona sang a ditty- <br />In her last hours among the living- <br />It wasn't love that she lamented, <br />And not her star-she mourned a willow. <br />When Desdemona started singing, <br />With tears near choking off her voice, <br />Her evil demon for her evil day <br />Stored up of weeping rills a choice. <br /> <br />And when Ophelia sang a ballad- <br />In her last hours among the living- <br />All dryness of her soul was carried <br />Aloft by gusts of wind, like cinders. <br /> <br />The day Ophelia started singing, <br />By bitterness of daydreams jaded, <br />What trophies did she clutch, when sinking? <br />A bunch of buttercups and daisies. <br /> <br />Their shoulders stripped of passion's tatters, <br />They took, their hearts a-quake with fear, <br />The Universe's chilly baptism- <br />To stun their loving forms with spheres.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lessons-of-english/
