"Marina Tsvetaeva. The Best (translated by Ilya Shambat) (англ.)" - читать интересную книгу автора Sixteen hundred of them, to count them all.
Full of bells are these Moscow's seven hills! In the ringing, fine-gold day of John The Baptist was born. House like gingerbread, And around a hedge, and around a hedge, And the churches there stand with golden heads. And as nuns were pouring to dining hall, The first ringing I did love, I did love And the sorceress from a neighbor's yard And hot sleep and noise in the stove. Do conduct me, all you imbecile, Thieving, flagellant Moscow crowd! Priest, shut my mouth more tightly still With the ringing-bell Moscow's ground! 8 Moscow - what a giant And strangely-mannered home! In Russia all are homeless. We all to you will come. A shoulder brand in shame. From far away us all You will call all the same. Upon the penal brandings, On every kind of ill - A baby Panteleimon We have, O man who heals, And there behind that door, Where all the people pour - There the fine golden heart Is burning of Iver. And "Halleluiah" pours Upon the fields grown tan. I kiss you in the bosom, O the Moscow land! 9 With a red brush The mountain-ash burned: The leaves were falling |
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