Weblog about Saint-Petersburg city, Russia

2005-12-13T00:26:00.000-08:00

The Admiralty spire is bright

2005-12-08T08:27:00.000-08:00

Isaakievsky a cathedral

2005-12-06T11:16:00.000-08:00

The people swarmed and crowded, curious,
And reveled in the towering spray
That spattered where the waves were furious.
But the wind driving from the bay
Dammed Neva back, and she receding
Came up, in wrath and riot speeding;
And soon the islands flooded lay.
Madder the weather grew, and ever
Higher upswelled the roaring river
And bubbled like a kettle, and whirled
And like a maddened beast was hurled
Swift on the city. All things routed
Fled from its path, and all about it
A sudden space was cleared; the flow
Dashed in the cellars down below;
Canals up to their gratings spouted.
Behold Petropol floating lie
Like Triton in the deep, waist-high!

2005-12-03T13:05:00.000-08:00

2005-11-30T13:10:00.000-08:00

Fontanka river

2005-11-21T12:51:00.000-08:00

Proud Russia holds her celebration;
Or when the Neva breaking free
Her dark-blue ice bears out to sea
And scents the spring, in exultation.

2005-11-20T11:17:00.000-08:00

I love thee, city of Peter's making;
I love thy harmonies austere,
And Neva's sovran waters breaking
Along her banks of granite sheer;
Thy traceried iron gates; thy sparkling,
Yet moouless, meditative gloom
And thy transparent twilight darkling;
And when I write within my room
Or lampless, read--then, sunk in slumber,
The empty thoroughfares, past number,
Are piled, stand clear upon the night;
The Admiralty spire is bright;
Nor may the darkness mount, to smother
The golden cloudland of the light,
For soon one dawn succeeds another
With barely half-an-hour of night.

2005-11-04T08:27:00.000-08:00

There was a dreadful time, we keep
Still freshly on our memories painted;
And you, my friends, shall be acquainted
By me, with all that history:
A grievous record it will be.

2005-11-01T07:32:00.000-08:00

The Neva now is clad in granite
With many a bridge to overspan it;
The islands lie beneath a screen
Of gardens deep in dusky green.
To that young capital is drooping
The crest of Moscow on the ground,
A dowager in purple, stooping
Before an empress newly crowned.

2005-10-31T11:43:00.000-08:00

Nevsky prospect 30 years ago :)

2005-10-28T12:27:00.000-07:00

Ay, ships of every flag shall come
By waters they had never swum,
And we shall revel, freely ranging."
A century--and that city young,
Gem of the Northern world, amazing,
From gloomy wood and swamp upsprung,
Had risen, in pride and splendor blazing.
Where once, by that low-lying shore,
In waters never known before
The Finnish fisherman, sole creature,
And left forlorn by stepdame Nature,
Cast ragged nets--today, along
Those shores, astir with life and motion,
Vast shapely palaces in throng
And towers are seen: from every ocean,
From the world's end, the ships come fast,
To reach the loaded quays at last.

2005-10-26T06:52:00.000-07:00

We got snow today... :(
Will the Winter Come Too Soon? A Poem

Will the winter come too soon?
Will spring and summer quickly fade?
Will life such swift farewell endure?

Will the winter come too soon?
Will layered snow in cold encase
Our lives and hopes like golden stalks

That may not grow again? There may never
Be another spring, another summer full to live.
What nature does in the life we know

May not be what happens to our soul.
We make allusion to natural things
And think our symbols tell of time to come

When winter death does freeze our form
Like tangled grass beneath the snow
Where burrowed mice make their abode,

Holding out in brown and white
Until the green and golden spring;
Rejoice in harshly pale, hard crust

That magnifies the frozen light,
But blinds the gliding owl at dusk
On silent, waving wings of night.

But unlike broken stalk and grass,
It may not ever come to pass
That we grow lithe and tall again.
There may not be another spring.

Why does the winter come too soon?

Copyright by Don Gray

2005-10-25T07:09:00.000-07:00

There, by the billows desolate,
He stood, with mighty thoughts elate,
And gazed; but in the distance only
A sorry skiff on the broad spate
Of Neva drifted seaward, lonely.
The moss-grown miry banks with rare
Hovels were dotted here and there
Where wretched Finns for shelter crowded;
The murmuring woodlands had no share
Of sunshine, all in mist beshrouded.
And thus He mused: "From here, indeed
Shall we strike terror in the Swede;
And here a city by our labor
Founded, shall gall our haughty neightor;
'Here cut'--so Nature gives command-
'Your window through on Europe; stand
Firm-footed by the sea, unchanging!'

2005-10-25T03:29:00.000-07:00

Walking the Neva River

2005-10-25T02:03:00.000-07:00

This weblog is dedicated to Saint-Petersburg is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. If you were born here or have lived here for many years and consider Saint-Petersburg your home, this blog is for you.