Author: Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (trans. C. E. Turner)

Cited by

• Tasha Alexander (1)
  • IN: Death in St. Petersburg (2017) Fiction, American
    EPIGRAPH: I love thee, work of Peter's hand! I love thy stern, symmetric form; The Neva's calm and queenly flow Betwixt her quays of granite-stone, With iron tracings richly wrought; Thy nights so soft with pensive thought, Their moonless glow, in bright obscure, When I alone, in cosy room, Or write or read, night's lamp unlit; The sleeping piles that clear stand out In lonely streets, and needle bright, That crowns the Admiralty's spire; When, chasing far the shades of night, In cloudless sky of golden pure, Dawn quick usurps the pale twilight, And brings to end her half-hour reign. I love thy winters bleak and harsh; Thy stirless air fast bound by frosts; The flight of sledge o'er Neva wide, That glows the cheeks of maidens gay. I love the noise and chat of balls ; A banquet free from wife's control, Where goblets foam, and bright blue flame Darts round the brimming punch-bowl's edge. I love to watch the martial troops The spacious Field of Mars fast scour; The squadrons spruce of foot and horse; The nicely chosen race of steeds, As gaily housed they stand in line, Whilst o'er them float the tattered flags; The gleaming helmets of the men That bear the marks of battle-shot. I love thee, when with pomp of war The cannons roar from fortress-tower; When Empress-Queen of all the North Hath given birth to royal heir ; Or when the people celebrate Some conquest fresh on battle-field; Or when her bonds of ice once more The Neva, rushing free, upheaves, The herald sure of spring's rebirth. Fair city of the hero, hail!
    FROM: The Bronze Horseman: A Petersburg Story, (1833), Poem, Russia