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Holy Russia

Rating: 2.7

CROUCHED in the terrible land,
The circle of pitiless ice,
With frozen bloody feet
And her pestilential summer's
Fever-throb in her brow,
Look, in her deep slow eyes
The mists of her sleep of faith
Stir, and a gleam of light,
The ray of a blood-red sun,
Beams out into the dusk.

From far away, from the west,
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7/25/2021 5:21:22 PM # 1.0.0.663