by Boris Pasternak
A tall, strapping shot, you, considerate hunter,
Phantom with gun at the flood of my soul,
Do not destroy me now as a traitor,
As fodder for feeling, crumbled up small!
Grant me destruction rising and soaring,
Dress me at night in the willow and ice.
Start me, I pray, from the reeds in the morning,
Finish me off with one shot in my flight,
And for this lofty and resonant parting
Thank you. Forgive me, I kiss you, oh hands
Of my neglected, my disregarded
Homeland, my diffidence, family, friends.
Last updated January 14, 2019