ABSTRACT
Russia, I see thee from my wondrously beautiful, distant abode, I see thee. . . . There is nothing in thee to fascinate, to allure the eye. . . . But what impenetrable, mysterious force draws one to thee? . . . Why does thy melancholy song, floating all over thy width and length from sea to sea, resound unceasingly in the ear? What is in it, in that song? What is it that calls and sobs and clutches at my heart? What are these strains that so poignantly greet me, that go straight to my soul, that throb about my heart? Is it not there, not in thee, that boundless thought should be born since thou art boundless thyself? What a marvellous, radiant expanse, unknown to the earth ! Russia !
