Boris Pasternak
Meeting

The roads will fill with snow,
The roofs will feel its weight,
To stretch, outside I go:
There, by the door, you wait.

Alone, in an autumn coat,
With nothing on your head,
You chew the snow, distraught,
And hide a nervous fret.

The fences and the trees
Into the gloom withdraw.
You stand there in the breeze
Under the falling snow.

The headscarf droplets slide
Along the coat you wear,
As dewy drops alight
And sparkle in your hair.

A pale lock will trigger
Enough of light to note
The face, the scarf, the figure
And this light, autumn coat.

There’s wet snow on your lashes.
Your eyes appear displeased.
Your whole appearance flashes
In one entire piece.

As though a scrap of metal
Into the stibnite dipped,
Across my heart unsettled,
You were incised in script.

And in it, now forever,
Your humble features stay
And thus, it doesn’t matter
If life is harsh today.

That’s why the night appears thus
Redoubled in the snow, —
No boundaries between us,
And closer still we grow.

But who are we, from where,
If all those years are gone,
Just rumors are to spare,
And we have long passed on?

Translated by Andrey Kneller