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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE SCYTHIANS, by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK Poem Explanation Poet's Biography First Line: You are the millions, we are multitude Subject(s): Russian Revolution; War | |||
Pan-Mongolism-though the word is strange, My ear acclaims its gongs." #NAME? You are the millions, we are multitude And multitude and multitude. Come, fight! Yea, we are Scythians, Yea, Asians, a squint-eyed, greedy brood. For you: the centuries; for us: one hour. Like slaves, obeying and abhorred, We were the shield between the breeds Of Europe and the raging Mongol horde. For centuries your ancient hammers forged And drowned the thunder of far hates. You heard like wild fantastic tales Old Lisbon's and Messina's sudden fates. Yea, so to love as our hot blood can love Long since you ceased to love; the taste You have forgotten, of a love That burns like fire and like the fire lays waste. All things we love: clear numbers' burning chill, The ecstasies that secret bloom. All things we know: the Gallic light And the parturient Germanic gloom. And we remember all: Parisian hells, The breath of Venice's lagoons, Far fragrance of green lemon groves, And dim Cologne's cathedral-splintered moons. And flesh we love, its color and its taste, Its deathy odor, heavy, raw. And is it our guilt if your bones May crack beneath our powerful supple paw? It is our wont to seize wild colts at play: They rear and impotently shake Wild manes-we crush their mighty croups. And shrewish women slaves we tame-or break. Come unto us, from the black ways of war, Come to our peaceful arms and rest. Comrades, while it is not too late, Sheathe the old sword. May brotherhood be blest. If not, we have not anything to lose. We also know old perfidies. By sick descendants you will be Accursed for centuries and centuries. To welcome pretty Europe, we shall spread And scatter in the tangled space Of our wide thickets. We shall turn To you our alien Asiatic face. For centuries your eyes were toward the East. Our pearls you hoarded in your chests, And mockingly you bode the day When you could aim your cannon at our breasts. The time has come! Disaster beats its wings. With every day the insults grow. The, hour will strike, and without ruth Your proud and powerless Paestums be laid low Oh pause, old world, while life still beats in you Oh weary one, oh worn, oh wise! Halt here, as once did dipus Before the Sphinx's enigmatic eyes. Yea, Russia is a Sphinx. Exulting, grieving, And sweating blood, she cannot sate Her eyes that gaze and gaze and gaze At you with stone-lipped love for you, and hate Go, all of you, to Ural fastnesses, We clear the battle-ground for war; Cold Number shaping guns of steel Where the fierce Mongol hordes in frenzy pour But we, we shall no longer be your shield. But, careless of the battle-cries, Shall watch the deadly duel seethe, Aloof, with indurate and narrow eyes. We shall not move when the ferocious Hun Despoils the corpse and leaves it bare, Burns towns, herds cattle in the church, And smell of white flesh roasting fills the air. For the last time, old world, we bid you come, Feast brotherly within our walls. To share our peace and glowing toil Once only the barbarian lyre calls. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...I AM YOUR WAITER TONIGHT AND MY NAME IS DIMITRI by ROBERT HASS MITRAILLIATRICE by ERNEST HEMINGWAY RIPARTO D'ASSALTO by ERNEST HEMINGWAY WAR VOYEURS by JUAN FELIPE HERRERA THE DREAM OF WAKING by RANDALL JARRELL THE SURVIVOR AMONG GRAVES by RANDALL JARRELL SO MANY BLOOD-LAKES by ROBINSON JEFFERS ARTIST by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK |
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