Those born in obscure times
Do not remember their way.
We, children of Russia's frightful years
Cannot forget a thing.
Incinerating years!, do you bring tidings
of madness or of hope?
The days of war, the days of freedom
Have left a bloody sheen on our faces.
There is a muteness - the tocsin bell
Has made us close our lips.
In our hearts, once so ardent,
There is a fateful emptiness.
Let the croaking ravens
Take flight above our deathbed -
O Lord, O Lord, may those more worthy than us,
Behold Thy kingdom!
Those Born In Obscure Times
Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok
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Poem topics: children, freedom, hope, remember, war, flight, bring, forget, kingdom, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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