1

There are clouds about us
and domes about us:
over the whole of Moscow
so many hands are needed!
I lift you up like a
sapling, my best burden: for
to me you are weightless.

In this city of wonder
this peaceful city
I shall be joyful, even
when I am dead. You
shall reign, or grieve
or perhaps receive my crown:
for you are my first born!

When you fast in Lent
do not blacken your brows
and honour the churches—these
forty times forty go
about on foot stride youthfully
over the whole seven of
these untrammelled hills.

Your turn will come.
You will give Moscow
with tender bitterness
to your daughter also

As for me unbroken sleep
and the sound of bells
in the surly dawn of
the Vagankovo cemetery.