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Boris Pasternak - Eve
Work rating: Low

By water`s edge, quiet willows stand,
And from the steep bank, high noon flings
White fleecy clouds into the pond
As if they were a fisher`s seines.

The firmament sinks like a net,
A crowd of sunburnt bathers dive
With yells into the pond, and head
For this elusive netlike sky.

Some women from the water rise
Under the scanty willows` lee,
And stepping on the sand, wring dry
Their bathing costumes hurriedly.

The coils of fabric twist and slide
Like water-snakes, and nimbly roll,
As if the dripping garments hide
Beguiling serpents in their folds.

0 woman, neither looks nor shape
Will nonplus me or make me gloat.
You, all of you, are like a lump
In my excitement-stricken throat.

You look as if hewn in the rough-
A stray verse line dashed off ad lib.
You make me think it is the truth-
That you were made out of my rib.

And instantly you broke away
From my embrace, and moved apart,
All fear, confusion, disarray-
And missing beats of a man`s heart.
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