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Boris Pasternak - Do not fret, do not cry, do not tax...
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Do not fret, do not cry, do not tax
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 exposed
As a fraud in my faith in the future.
It`s not life, not a union of souls
We are breaking off, but a hoax mutual.

From straw mattresses` sick wretchedness
To the fresh air of wide open spaces!
It`s my brother and hand. It`s addressed
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 lakes
With the marrow of osseous mountains
You will know I was not a glib fake
And of sugared assurances spouter.

Fare ye well and God bless you! Our bond
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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