|A Portrait of the Poet Nikolai Nekrasov Writing “The Last Songs” (Ivan Kramskoi, 1877)|
THE CAPITALS are rocked with thunder
Of orators in wordy feuds.
But in the depths of Russia, yonder,
An age-old awful silence broods.
Only the wind in wayside willows,
Coming and going, does not cease;
And corn-stalks touch in curving billows
The earth that cherishes and pillows,
Through endless fields of changeless peace.