After the Interval
About three months ago, when first
Upon our open, unprotected
And freezing garden snowstorms burst
In sudden fury, I reflected
That I would shut myself away
And in seclusion write a section
Of winter poems, day by day,
To supplement my spring collection.
But nonsense piled up mountain-high,
Like snow-drifts hindering and stifling
And half the winter had gone by,
Against all hopes, in petty trifling.
I understood, alas, too late
Why winter-while the snow was falling,
Piercing the darkness with its flakes-
From outside at my house was calling;
And while with numb white-frozen lips
It whispered, urging me to hurry,
I sharpened pencils, played with clips,
Made feeble jokes and did not worry.
While at my desk I dawdled on
By lamp-light on an early morning,
The winter had appeared and gone-
A wasted and unheeded warning.
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Comments about this poem (After the Interval by Boris Pasternak )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
- what was i supposed to be doing again?, Mandolyn ...
- The windmill of my existance, Mario,Lucien,Rene Odekerken
- Home, Susan Oxford
- My writer friends and I, jim hogg
- six thousand years should do the trick, Mandolyn ...
- Strange is Life, Smoky Hoss
- Voice of your bangles, ramesh rai
- Eternal Love, Jesus James Llorico
- Butterfly, Tiku akp
- How time flies, DEEPAK KUMAR PATTANAYAK