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Do not fret do not cry do not tax

Do not fret, do not cry, do not

Your last strength, and your heart do not torture.

You're alive, you're inside me, intact,

As a buttress, a friend, an adventure.

I've no fear of standing

As a fraud in my faith in the future.

It's not life, not a union of

We are breaking off, but a hoax mutual.

From straw mattresses' sick

To the fresh air of wide open spaces!

It's my brother and hand.

It's

Like a letter, to you, crisp and bracing.

Like an envelope, tear it across,

With Horizon begin correspondence,

Give your speech the sheer Alpian force,

Overcome the sick sense of forlornness.

O'er the bowl of Bavarian

With the marrow of osseous

You will know I was not a glib

And of sugared assurances spouter.

Fare ye well and God bless you!

Our

And our honour aren't tamely domestic.

Like a sprout in the sunlight, unbend,

And then things will assume a new aspect.

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Пастернак Борис

Произведения Бориса Пастернака. (29 января [10 февраля] 1890 — 30 мая 1960) — русский поэт, писатель и переводчик. Один из крупнейших русских по…

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