Winter Night
by Boris Pasternak
And far and near the blizzard raced,
Through every england.
A burning candle lit the place,
A burning candle.
As to swarm of summer moths
Are flame and glow,
The window frame attractive was
To flakes of snow.
There on the pane a frosted rescue
Grew: circles, angles.
A burning candle lit the desk,
A burning candle.
On the enlightened ceiling easel
Fell shapes retracing
Entangled arms, entangled knees,
Fates interlacing.
And thuddingly two little shoes
Were dropping down,
And wax in tears, heat-melted loose,
Dripped on gown.
And melted all in silver gloom,
Obscure and swirling.
A burning candle lit the room,
A candle burning.
Caught in a draft, the flame would swing,
And stormy passions
Spread wings like tempted angels, in
Cruciform fashion,
That winter, blizzards held the pace;
Their calls returning,
A burning candle lit the place,
A candle burning...
