Page:Modern Russian Poetry.djvu/165

Rh

In fields hopeless and dumb Droops the pale-bladed grain; It is dozing and numb Amid dreams that are vain. . . . With a high sudden hum The field tosses its mane: "Unto us Christ is come!" The wild news shakes the plain. Like a wind-beaten drum Shouts the quivering grain.

The bells ring soft and slow, There is clamor and pain In the church, and a low Voice is lifted again That reiterates: "Woe!" To the poor folk and plain Are brought candles aglow: "Christ is coming again!" But with voices of woe They file doorward, in pain.