Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/133

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"You are artists, Nomads of Beauty." —"Flamings."

For you—ancestral acres, And, choked, the graveyard waits. For us, the free forsakers,— The camp that Beauty fates.

For us—the daily treason, The tents we daily flee, Mocked by each dawning season Of our captivity.

Believe the dimmer distance, All curtains: magic veils, All Springtides' green persistence, Whole heaven's vasty gales!

Oh, vagrant artists, shepherd Your droves of dreams unbound; And sow, although you jeopard The soon-abandoned ground.

And from your open spaces Rush down, a whirling horde, Where slaves tamed to the traces Adore their overlord.