The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves, <br />And washes both banks. <br />In steppe, above light clay of cliffs <br />Rinks mourn in ranks. <br /> <br />O Russia! Dear wife! With clearness and pain <br />We see the lengthy way! <br />It sent an arrow of ancient Tartar reign - <br />In breast it lay. <br /> <br />The way through steppes and an incessant plight, <br />Through your, o Russia, lot! <br />And alien dark and dark of night <br />I fear not. <br /> <br />Let be the night. We'll ride and light in gloom <br />Camp-fires late. <br />The holy flag will flash in fume, <br />And Khan's steel blade ... <br /> <br />And endless battle! We only dream of peace <br />Through blood and dust ... <br />The mare of steppes flies on and flees, <br />And tramples the grass ... <br /> <br />There's no end! The miles and cliffs flash past <br />Stop crazy flood! <br />The frightened clouds go fast, <br />Sun sets in blood! <br /> <br />Sun sets in blood! Blood streams from heart away! <br />O cry, my heart ... <br />There's no peace! Through steppe the bay <br />Prolongs the flight!<br /><br />Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-field-of-kulicovo/
