Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.
So thou wast blind;óbut then the veil was rent,
For Jove uncurtainíd Heaven to let thee live,
And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,
And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;
Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,
And precipices show untrodden green,
There is a budding morrow in midnight,
There is a triple sight in blindness keen;
Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel
To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell. 
In everything, I want to reach
For the very essence.
In work, in searching for the path,
In the heart's turmoil.
For the essence of days gone by,
For their causes,
For foundations, for roots,
For the core.
I want to live, to think, to feel, to love,
To make discoveries
Always grasping the thread
Of fates and events.
Oh, if only I could
At least in part,
I would write eight lines
About the properties of passion.
About the transgressions, the sins,
The running, the pursuit,
The hasty inadvertences,
The elbows, the palms.
I would uncover its law,
And I would repeat the initials
Of its names.
I would lay out poems like a garden.
In them, with every vein aquiver,
Lindens would bloom all in a line
Single file, one after another.
I would bring into poems a breath of roses,
A breath of mint,
Meadows, sedge, haymaking,
Bursts of thunder.
Thus Chopin once infused
With the living wonder
Of estates, parks, groves, graves
The play and pain
of triumph reached -
Is the drawn string
Of a taut bow. 
...yet I can read
A wondrous lesson in thy silent face:
Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.
Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions,
Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,
Creations and destroyings, all at once
Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,
And deify me, as if some blithe wine
Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,
And so become immortal.
Know that the book of life has reached that page,
More valuable than all the blessings sent.
Whatís written in the book cannot be changed,
Then let it all come true, I say. Amen.
You see, My time has reached the final hour.
Continuing, it may alight in gloom.
Thus, in the name of His majestic power,
Accepting agony, Iíll step into the tomb.
Iíll step into the tomb soon overburdened,
And on the third day, Iíll ascent. into my sight,
As though in a procession for my verdict,
The centuries will flow out of the nightÖ
 - John Keats
 - Boris Pasternak
Chapter from the "Cultural field and conspiracy "Songs of Hyperion""