<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341014" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On the Field of Kulicovo</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">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. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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 ... </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">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!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Aleksandr+Aleksandrovich+Blok">Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341014" data-title="On the Field of Kulicovo de Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok" data-description="The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves, And washes both banks. In steppe, above light clay of cliffs Rinks mourn in ranks. O Russia! Dear wife! With clearness and pain We see the lengthy way! It sent an arrow of ancient Tartar reign - ..."></div> </div> </div>

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