Here you will find the Poem Like a braziers bronze cinders, of poet Boris Pasternak
Like a brazier?s bronze cinders, the sleepy garden?s beetles flowing. Level with me, and my candle, a flowering world is hanging. As if into unprecedented faith, I cross into this night, where the poplar?s beaten grey veils the moon?s rim from sight. Where the pond?s an open secret, where apple-trees whisper of waves, where the garden hanging on piles, holds the sky before its face.
