Sundering the bushes like a snare, <br />More violet than Margarita's tight-pressed lips, <br />More passionate than Margarita's white-eyed stare, <br />The nightingale glowed, royally throbbed and trilled. <br /> <br />Like the scent of grass ascending, <br />Like the crazed rainfall's mercury, the foliage among, <br />He stupefied the bark, approached the mouth, panting, <br />And, halting there, upon a braid he hung. <br /> <br />When Margarita to the light was drawn, <br />Stroking her eyes with an astonished hand, <br />It seemed, beneath the helm of branch and rain, <br />A weary Amazon was fallen to the ground. <br /> <br />Her head in her hand in his hand lay, <br />Her other arm was bent back up to where, <br />Dangling, there hung her helmet of shade, <br />Sundering the branches like a snare.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/margarita-2/
