Vasily Bashkin (c. 1880–1909)

UPON the black brow of a cliff where no life ever stirred

Alighted strong, hoary-winged eagles, grave bird upon bird.

They whetted their claws on the stones, sitting massive and grum,

And loudly they called on their lately-fledged comrades to come.

Slow-measured and heavy the beat of their wings on the skies,

Assuageless the rage that tempestuous burned in their eyes.

And each newly-come they acclaimed with the pride of the peer:

“Hail, comrade! Delay not! The days we have longed for are near.”