To Liberty

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Slowly you wander through the sleepless streets,
From your sad brow gone is the former ray,
that called us toward love and shining heights.
Your trembling hand holds an extinguished taper.
Dragging your broken wing over dead men,
your bloodstained elbow covering your eyes,
once more deceived, you once again depart,
and the old night, alas, remains behind.

Vladimir Nabokov
Crimea, 1917
Selected Poems 

Photo by Jan Saudek

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