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Site established July 2003
This site is not endorsed by Hans Matheson or any person or organisation connected to Hans.
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WINTER NIGHT by Boris Pasternak
Snow swept over the earth,
Swept it from end to end.
The candle on the table burned,
The candle burned.
Like swarms of summer midges
Drawn to the flame
The snowflakes
Flocked to the window.
The driven snow drew circles and arrowa
On the window pane.
The candle on the table burned,
The candle burned.
On the bright ceiling
Fell the shadows
Of crossed hands, crossed feet,
Crossed fate.
Two shoes fell to the floor
With a thud.
From the night-light
Wax tears dropped on a frock.
And everything was lost
In the white-haired, white, snowy darkness.
The candle on the table burned,
The candle burned.
A draught from the corner
Puffed at the candle's flame,
And like an angel, the heat of temptation
Raised two wings in the form of a cross.
The snow swept all through February,
And now and again
The candle on the table burned,
The candle burned
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