Russia

AT sudden voice peals to the Caucasus,

To Finland and the bitter Caspian,

To those Siberian prisons whither

Shall seek as to a shrine, that mutinous,

Divine word Liberty?

She rises,

Holy Russia, shakes the

From her stooped shoulders of colossal span,

A youth in diamond mail, miraculous.

Is this the foretaste of a harvest

All agony of its encrimsoned sod?

Are dreams come true?

Does this wild roar of wars,

That wellnigh breaks the shuddering heart of earth,

Sound in the hearing of the far-off starsA golden voice of Freedom, voice of God?