Poems (Proctor)/Moscow
MOSCOW.
Across the steppe we journeyed,
The brown, fir-darkened plain
That rolls to east and rolls to west,
Broad as the billowy main;
When lo! a sudden splendor
Came shimmering through the air,
As if the clouds should melt and leave
The heights of heaven bare,—
A maze of rainbow domes and spires
Full glorious on the sky,
With wafted chimes from many a tower
As the south wind went by,
And a thousand crosses lightly hung
That shone like morning stars—
'T was the Kremlin wall! 't was Moscow—
The jewel of the Czars!
The brown, fir-darkened plain
That rolls to east and rolls to west,
Broad as the billowy main;
When lo! a sudden splendor
Came shimmering through the air,
As if the clouds should melt and leave
The heights of heaven bare,—
A maze of rainbow domes and spires
Full glorious on the sky,
With wafted chimes from many a tower
As the south wind went by,
And a thousand crosses lightly hung
That shone like morning stars—
'T was the Kremlin wall! 't was Moscow—
The jewel of the Czars!