Cradle, swathed in red, arrayed in crimson!
Cradle which the rabble rock between them!
Soldiers' brawl—outside the church—at even...
But she will be beautiful—this infant.

From her wet-nurse, with her milk, she drank them:
All the blessings old Ryazan could muster—
The Triunity of God—the Russian
Flag—the Russian space—the Russian anthem.

And one day, in God's good time, shell think on
Her high filial duties—will redeem them—
Cradle which the rabble rock between them!
Cradle, swathed in red, arrayed in crimson!

(My second daughter, Irina—born on 13 April 1917, died on
2 February 1920, the Feast of the Purification, of malnutrition,
in the children's home in Kuntsevo.)

26 August 1918