Christmas Star by  Boris Pasternak

A wind was blowing from the steppe
In that deep wintertide
Where in a cold cave slept a child
Upon the curved hillside.

An ox's breath was all his warmth
And every farmyard beast
Beneath the warm haze of the cave
Was stabled and at rest;

While, shaking hay-seed from their coats
Which they drew round them tight,
Some drowsy shepherds from their rock
Gazed far into the night

At fences, and a field in snow,
A cart snowed up for hours,
A cemetery, and over it
A heavenful of stars.

And, shyer than a watchman's light,
Nor till now seen by them,
A star rose shining on its way
That led to Bethlehem.

It flamed out like a haystack, far
Away from God and sky,
As though it were a farm ablaze,
A fire sparkling high

Which rose up like a flaming rick
Of burning thatch and hay
Amid a startled universe
That saw the new star's way