Boris Pasternak
Snow is falling, falling down...

Snow is falling, falling down.
The geraniums are trying
To befriend the sparkles flying
Past the window’s woven bound.

Snow is falling, all’s in action,
Smitten, taking off the ground:
The black stairs, the intersection, —
All is being lost and found.

Snow is falling, falling down,
Yet it isn’t snowflakes floating:
In a torn and worn old coating
Sky’s descending to the ground,

As if, from the attic door,
Sky were coming down the stairs,
Hiding, sneaking, unawares,
Like the weirdo up one floor.

For our life won’t wait around.
Blink — and Christmas time is near,
But a few brief days — and here,
The New Year will come to town.

Snow is falling, dense as lace.
Keeping up, if fast or slow,
Marking the exact same pace,
Be it laziness or race,

Time itself, perhaps, can go.
Or the years may go around
Steadily as snow comes down,
Or as poem lyrics flow.

Snow is falling, falling down,
Falling down, and all’s confounded:
The pedestrian’s snowy gown,
Houseplants’ looking out astounded,
All is being lost and found.

Translated by Evgenia Sarkisyants