My Sister Life and The Zhivago Poems

The Steppe

✦ 63 ✦ The Steppe How good were those walks in the still of the steppe! The measureless steppe like the sea, The feather grass sighing, the murmuring ants, The moan of mosquitoes afloat in the breeze. The hayricks have fallen in line with the clouds And fade like a chain of volcanoes. So mute and so moist is the measureless steppe, All rocking and sweeping and swaying. The mist has encircled us now like the sea, Our stockings awash in the thistle. What splendor to roam by the steppe like the sea, All rocking and sweeping and swaying. Can that be a rick in the mist? Who can tell? Is it ours? Come on. . . . Look what we’ve found! That’s just what it is. It’s the rick, With the mist and the steppe all around. Look how the Milky Way veers off to Kerch, A cattle trail heavy with dust. Go out past those huts, you’ll gasp at the sight: So open and endless, the steppe in the night. The mist is hypnotic, like honey the grass, The whole Milky Way on the feathery ground. The mist will disperse and the darkness embrace The rick and the steppe all around. ✦ 64 ✦ A shadowy midnight lies low on the path, A scatter of stars on the highway. Just crossing the road over there by the fence Means treading the back of the universe. When else did these stars come looming so low, And midnight dip down in this valley? When else did soaked muslin, in fear and aglow, Cling close and so crave a finale? The steppe must decide and the night give reply. But when, if not then—in the very Beginning, Did Moans of Mosquitoes Float through the Sky, And Ants Crawl, and Thistles Cling to Stockings? Oh close them, my dearest! There’s dust all around! The steppe doesn’t know of the Fall: It’s covered in peace . . . it’s a parachute spreading . . . A shivering vision on all! Kerch is a seaport in the Crimea. ...