No one will be in the house – Boris Pasternak

No one will be in the house,
Except dusk. One
Winter day in a through opening
Untouched curtains.

Only white wet lumps
Swift flywheel,
Roofs only, snow, and, Besides
Roofs and snow, no one.

And again the frost will trace,
And again it will turn me
Last year's gloom
And the affairs of winter are different.

And they prick again to this day
Not released by guilt,
And the window on the cross
Will stifle wood-burning hunger.

But suddenly on the curtain
The invasion shivers will run,-
Silence in steps.
You, as the future, come in.

You will appear from the door
In something white, no fads,
In something, really one of those things,
From which flakes are sewn.

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Mikhail Lermontov