A wandering fire at a terrible height—
can it be a star shining like that?
Transparent star, wandering fire,
your brother, Petropolis, is dying.

The dreams of earth blaze at a terrible height,
a green star is burning.
O if you are a star, this brother of water and sky,
your brother, Petropolis, is dying.

A giant ship at a terrible height
is rushing on, spreading its wings,
Green star, in splendid poverty
your brother, Petropolis, is dying

Above the black Neva transparent spring
has broken, the wax of immortality is melting
O if you are a star, Petropolis, your city,
your brother, Petropolis, is dying.

--1918

We shall meet again in Petersburg,
as though we had buried the sun there,
and then we shall pronounce for the first time
the blessed word with no meaning.
In the Soviet night, in the velvet dark,
in the black velvet Void, the loved eyes
of blessed women are still singing,
flowers are blooming that will never die.

--1920

LENINGRAD

I’ve dome back to my city. These are my own old tears, my own little veins, the swollen glands of my childhood.

So you’re back. Open wide. Swallow

the fish-oil from the river lamps of Leningrad.

Open your eyes. Do you.know this December day, the egg-yolk with the deadly tar beaten into it?

Petersburg! I don’t want to die yet!

You know my telephone numbers.

Petersburg! I’ve still got the addresses:

I can look up dead voices.

I live on the back stairs, and the bell,

torn out nerves and all, jangles in my temples.

And I wait till morning for guests that I love, And rattle the door in its chains.
 

--Leningrad, December 1930