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Russia! If my faith in you were any less great
I might have said something different.
I might have complained: You have led us astray,
And seduced us young wandering gypsies.
Precious to us is each…
Foreign to me are trees in bloom
And grass and air and sky
What storms have banished me
From Eden
What blazing fire from the sun
Your wind won’t dry these tears
Land of exile
Your rain won’t…
You strangers with the broad, thick-veined hands,
Crooked legs and faces hard as leather,
Smelling of sea and tar
And of the rust of thick anchor chains;
Oh, you, strangers to all nations and tongues…