"Rain in Leningrad"
It rains in the gray-light evening
over mirror-wet streets
over the bay and the dim river.
Quietly the grass trembles on the graves of the dead
under the steady rain.
Everywhere in the falling wetness
stand young leafy trees
planted by the city folk
after war’s end and victory
and bitter loss.
Every man every woman every child,
their hope’s green tree.
In the Winter Palace there is a hall
of pure gold.
Today it was full of silent, staring people.
This evening only the gold is at home
behind rain-wet panes in the dark halls.