The Victory
2
Over a pier, the first beacon inflamed --
The vanguard of other sea-rangers;
The mariner cried and bared his head;
He sailed with death beside and ahead
In seas, packed with furious dangers.
3
By our doors Great Victory stays ...
But how we'll glory her advent?
Let women lift higher the children! They blessed
With life mid a thousand thousands deaths --
Thus will be the dearest answered.
poem by Anna Akhmatova
Added by Poetry Lover
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