The plaudits slowly fade away.
Again I come upon the stage.
I strain to hear in dying echoes
The fate that waits our present age.
Through thousands of binoculars
The night of darkness stares at me.
If possible, O Abba, Father,
Then take away this cup from me.
I love Thy stern design, and I am
Content to act this role of woe.
But there's another play on stage;
Then spare me now, and let me go.
The acts are plotted, planned with care;
The end, foredoomed. I stand alone.
The Pharisees exult in pride.
O hard the way - our ways of stone.[4]
Works Referenced
Clowes, Edith. "Doctor Zhivago in the Post-Soviet Era: A Re-Introduction." Doctor Zhivago: A Critical Companion. Ed. Edith Clowes. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press, 1995. 3-48.
Davie, Donald. The Poems of Dr. Zhivago. New York: Manchester University Press, 1965.
Pasternak, Boris. Doctor Zhivago. Trans. Eugene Kayden. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger, 1977.
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[1] Clowes, 3-4.
[2] Clowes, 16-17.
[3] Davie, 51-54.
[4] Pasternak, 614.
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