Hops by Boris Pasternak

Beneath the willow wound round with ivy
we take cover from the worst
of the storm, with a greatcoat round
our shoulders and my hands around your waist.
I’ve got it wrong. That isn’t ivy
entwined in the bushes round
the wood, but hops. You intoxicate me!
Let’s spread the greatcoat on the ground.

translated by Jon Stallworthy & Peter France

2 thoughts on “Hops by Boris Pasternak

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.