 | A Sonnet Chronicle |  |
67
Red Sunday in St. Petersburg
22nd January, 1905.
By Neva gleamed St. Isaac's dome of gold,
All bright and sparkling, frost-begemmed and fair,
Shone spire and turbaned cupola, the air
A happy Sabbath stillness seemed to hold;
When suddenly a roar of thunder rolled—
Thunder of people's anger despair,
And round the barriers of the Palace Square
Rose a wild flood no barrier back shall hold.
All bright and sparkling, frost-begemmed and fair,
Shone spire and turbaned cupola, the air
A happy Sabbath stillness seemed to hold;
When suddenly a roar of thunder rolled—
Thunder of people's anger despair,
And round the barriers of the Palace Square
Rose a wild flood no barrier back shall hold.
For there the cries for justice met the sword,
Brute force broke there the bonds of brotherhood,
The moral bond 'twixt people and their Czar;
There one by one the dying sealed in blood,
Full faith that dying was the first last word
For Right, ere throne and order sank in war.
Brute force broke there the bonds of brotherhood,
The moral bond 'twixt people and their Czar;
There one by one the dying sealed in blood,
Full faith that dying was the first last word
For Right, ere throne and order sank in war.
| A Sonnet Chronicle | |