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Autumn

I have allowed my family to scatter,

All those who were my dearest to depart,

And once again an age-long

Comes in to fill all nature and my heart.

Alone this cottage shelters me and you:

The wood is an unpeopled

And ways and footpaths wear, as in the song.

Weeds almost overgrowing each recess;

And where we sit together by

The log walls gaze upon us mournfully.

We gave no promise to leap obstacles,

We shall yet face our end with honesty.

At one we'll sit, at three again we'll rise,

My book with me, your sewing in your hand,

Nor with the dawning shall we

When all our kissing shall have had an end.

You leaves, more richly and more

Rustle your dresses, spill yourselves away,

And fill a past day's cup of

Still higher with the anguish of today!

All this delight, devotion and desire!

We'll fling ourselves into September's riot!

Immure yourself within the autumn's

Entirely: go crazy, or be quiet!

How when you fall into my gentle

Enrobed in that silk-tasselled dressing

You shake the dress you wear away from

As only coppices shake their leaves down!-You are the blessing on my baneful way,

When life has depths worse than disease can reach,

And courage is the only root of beauty,

And it is this that draws us each to each.

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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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