I’ve stumbled upon the ending and dating of this poem. It’s even more radical considering a Russian émigré penned it down in France in 1949. Here’s a rhythmically irregular (deliberately so) translation.
I am for war and foreign intervention;
I’m for the Czar, even the dead man;
The Russian intelligentsia
I loathe, and to the end.
The world is governed by gods,
Not some lousy proletariat.
Over Russian snows will flash
The god-split atom.
(Literally “the split-by-(the)-gods atom.”)