How I so love and loved to look
Upon the chiseled twilit shores,
The balconies that time adores,
Those centuries they would not brook.
My capital, my city, You,
Our haven true, we bright and mad;
Above the Neva, blue and sad,
That dusky hour, so special, pure,
Brings gusts of May that will careen
Off columns by the watery lea;
Then, sinner heaven-bound, You'll see,
Before Your death the sweetest dream.