Clouds above the chapel—wisps of pale-blue air.
Screech of ravens...
And—drab cohort in their ashen, sand-gray wear—
Revolutionary troops pass there.
Ah, you loyal-dyed, you royal-dyed, my dark despair!

Faces they have none, no names have they,—
Songs they know not!
Kremlin bells, your peals have lost their way
In this hurst of banners where the wind doth play.
Pray then, Moscow, lay you, Moscow, down to

sleep in aye!
Moscow, 2 March 1917