Hooves in the air, and the arch
Of a scarletstoned throat,
And the fatal firepool
Of buildings drugged on sunset:

Foreigners expelled
From the kingdom of crimson
Must burst from the flame of the palace
Like black solar flares.

Not the color of a jellyfish
But a heart gushing blood
Lies on the circular plaza:
Let no one judge the widow's fate.

And what Russian wouldn't understand
What heart lies in the grey body,
When the column's sovereign flight
Is but the axle of a cruel carousel?

Your murmurs alone, Neva,
Like a splashing that pleases her little,
The proud widow cherishes
Under the bloodless dome of Headquarters:

By morning the herald will dash into
The marine lilac, the grey break,
And the golden iris of the Admiralty
Will bloom at last.