No one will be in the house (Boris Pasternak)

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There will be no one in the house
except at dusk. One
A winter day in the doorway
The curtains are open.
Only white wet lumps
A quick flash of the flywheel.
Only roofs, snow and, except
Roofs and snow, no one.
And the frosts will start again,
And he will turn me upside down again
Last year's gloom
And the affairs of winter are different,
And they still sting to this day
Unrequited guilt,
And the window on the crossbar
The thirst for firewood will be suppressed.