Boris Pasternak
In the breeze, on a bough that is asking...

In the breeze, on a bough that is asking
If it’s time for the birds to sing,
Like a sparrow soaked with the showers.
My lilac blossom, you swing.

The raindrop’s a heavy button,
And the garden in spate appears.
Bespattered and wet and sprinkled
As with millions of blue tears.

My sorrow fostered and nursed it.
In the time of the thorns, for you;
On this very night reviving.
It murmured, and its scent blew.

All night you tapped at the window.
Made the shutters shake in distress;
Suddenly the sharp perfume
Ran forward along your dress.

Awakened by scented marvels
From those times and memories.
To-day the garden is gazing
With eyes like anemones.

Translated by Cecil Maurice Bowra