Valentine day poems, written by famous poet Boris Pasternak, February 14, you can give your loved one who is or was in your life.
Boris Pasternak Valentine Day Poems About Love
Love the other – a heavy cross …
Love the other – a heavy cross,
And you are beautiful without convolutions,
and the delights of your
life is tantamount to unraveling the secret.
Hear the rustle of the spring again
and the rustle of news and truth.
You’re from a family of such a framework.
Your sense as air, unselfish. It is easy to wake up and see the light, verbal rubbish from the heart to shake and live is not blocked in the future, all this – no big trick
Love – go – not smolknul thunder,
trampled anguish, not knowing shoes
frighten urchins, to return good
for evil lingonberry with cobwebs. Drink from the branches, hitting in the face, slashing Azure to rebound, “So this is an echo?” – And by the end of On the road to get off in kisses. As with the march of Brest with repem at all. By sunset know that the sun over those stars and those carts with oats, Toy Margarita and korchmarshi.
Losing language subscription
for storm tears in the eyes of the Valkyries,
and, in the heat of the whole sky speechless,
Stoke Pine Forest in the air. Razlegshis, shovel in thorns, events klochmi years as spruce cones: Highway; the descent of the inn; Day was breaking; feel cold; eating fish. And, again piled, sing: “gray, I went and fell down exhausted. Once choked city Swan, bathed in tears of soldiers. In the shadow of the long moonless rig, in the fires of flasks and groceries, and I think he – the old man and also next okoleet. “So I sang, sang and die. And die and come back to her hands like a boomerang, and – as I remember – said goodbye.
getting dark at seven.
From the streets to the curtains
rises the darkness.
People – mannequins,
only passion longingly
Leads to the universe
trembles under the palm produces
Flight and pursuit,
and the thrill of flying.
exactly tearing the reins of
horse in the mouthpiece.
Do not cry, do not wincing swollen lips,
do not collect them in the fold.
Reopen stubborn scab
spring fever. Take his hand on my chest, We Live Wire. To each other again, that look, inadvertently left us. It will take years, you get married , Forget confusion. Being a woman – a great step, is maddening – heroism. And I marvel before the female hands, back, and shoulders, and neck and so with affection servants whole century in awe. But no matter how the night shackles me melancholy ring, strong pull off the world and attracts passion tear.
From the garden with swings, out of the blue
runs in a branch in the mirror!
Huge close, with a drop of emerald
on the tip of the brush line.
Garden ready made, gone for her disorder
For kicking in the face of commotion.
Native, huge, with garden and character
Sister! The second mirror! But this thread is made in glass and put the frame mirror. Who is it – wondering – my eyes ryumit Prison human slumber?
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