Poems (Proctor)/The River Don
THE RIVER DON.
O placid Don! I see thee flow With shallow, snowy-sanded stream,While light the steppe-winds o'er thee blow, And cranes and gray-winged herons dream—Safe as beside some dark lagoon—Along thy banks in breezeless noon.
The Cossack wanders from thy shore, But never finds a wave so fair;Thy summer lapse, thy winter roar, Still greet him in remotest air;And death is sweet if he may lie,With cross above, thy waters by.