Russia

What can the secret link between us be? Why does your song’s unresting ebb and flow Speak to me in a language that I know? Why does the burden of your mystery Come like the message of a friend to me? Why do I love your vasts of corn or snow, The tears and laughter of your sleepless woe, The murmur of your brown immensity?

I cannot say, I only know that when I hear your soldiers singing in the street, I know it is with you that I would dwell; And when I see your peasants reaping wheat, Your children playing on the road, your men At prayer before a shrine, I wish them well.