Nobody is in the house

Boris Pasternak.

No one is in the house,
Also dusk. One
Winter day in a through opening
Curtains undrawn.

Only white wet clods
Quick promelk moss,
Only the roof, snow, except
Roofs and snow, no.

Again zachertit frost,
Again Volodina me
Last year's gloom
And a case of winter.

And again prick until now
Untempered fault,
And the window of the crosspiece
Surrendering hunger wood.

But suddenly the curtain on
Will run doubt shudder - silence steps Meria,
You, as a future, you will enter.

You emerge from the door
In something white, with no quirks,
In some of those really matters,
Of which flakes sew.

1931.