A wilderness—save for the White-livered CZAR.
The pick of your people, the best of your blood,
Your purest of women, your bravest of men,
O CZAR, have they not, in despair's dusky mood,
Turned Nihilist, plotted, been banished? What then?
Best banish them all, as you'd banish the Jew;
'Twill sweep your dominions more clear than red war.
Picture Russia a waste with one resident—you,
Perched high—and alone—as the White-livered CZAR!
Maybe they malign you. It cannot be sooth