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Alexander Blok
137
FROM "THE TWELVE"
9
The city's roar is far away,
Black silence broods on Neva's brink.
No more police! We can be gay,
Comrades, without a drop to drink.
A boorzhooy, a lonely mourner,
His nose tucked in his ragged fur,
Stands lost and idle on the corner,
Tagged by a cringing, mangy cur.
The boorzhooy like a hungry mongrel:
A silent question stands and begs;
The old world like a kinless mongrel
Stands there, its tail between its legs.
