Just so notes

I only started to appreciate Pasternak’s work a short while ago, but there are a few poems I have always enjoyed, one of them — On the Steamboat (1916) ending like this:

‘Twas a chilly morning. Jaws got cramped,
And the rustle of leaves was like delirium.
Bluer than a drake’s plumage
Dawn glared beyond the Kama.

And the morning was coming — a blood-bath —
Like the oil of a dawn-spill
To put out gas jets in the ship’s lounge
And street lamps.

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