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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352733" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>March</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352733" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The sun is hotter than the top ledge in a steam bath;<br>The ravine, crazed, is rampaging below.<br>Spring -- that corn-fed, husky milkmaid --<br>Is busy at her chores with never a letup.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352733" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The snow is wasting (pernicious anemia --<br>See those branching veinlets of impotent blue?)<br>Yet in the cowbarn life is burbling, steaming,<br>And the tines of pitchforks simply glow with health.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352733" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">These days -- these days, and these nights also!<br>With eavesdrop thrumming its tattoos at noon,<br>With icicles (cachectic!) hanging on to gables,<br>And with the chattering of rills that never sleep!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352733" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">All doors are flung open -- in stable and in cowbarn;<br>Pigeons peck at oats fallen in the snow;<br>And the culprit of all this and its life-begetter--<br>The pile of manure -- is pungent with ozone.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Boris+Pasternak">Boris Pasternak</a></strong></div>

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