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Pasternak, "Осень"

A poem ("Autumn"), first in a cycle of five, by this Russian author.  You can read the original here.

From those days on, a harsh October flew 
Leaf-crushing ice through the park's fulvous core:  
And throats are seiz'd and broken elbows sore 
When each flight's end was forg'd each daybreak new. 

The fogs have died.  Forgotten is the gloom.  
For hours 'twas dark; yet every eve there gazed 
A sickly skyline, in the heat unfazed,
In fever and catarrh, on courtyards' bloom. 

But blood did freeze. Yet it appeared that ponds  
Would not freeze. Yet it seemed – late weather meant –  
That days would not move, yet a firmament, 
Like limpid sound, was from the world now gone. 

And there began a gaze so distant; hard  
Was it to breathe, to see so painful; such 
Peace did spread, uninhabited as much 
As resonant, forgetful peace unmarred.  

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