Poems (Proctor)/Moscow
MOSCOW.
Across the steppe we journeyed, The brown, fir-darkened plainThat 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!