Boris Pasternak
Spring

I’ve come from the street. Spring, where the poplar stands
Amazed, where distance quails, and the house fears it will fall,
Where the air is blue, like the bundle of wash in the hands
Of the convalescent leaving the hospital;

Where evening is empty: a tale begun by a star
And interrupted, to the confusion of rank
On rank of clamorous eyes, waiting for what they are
Never to know, their bottomless gaze blank.

Translated by Babette Deutsch