«7 Seven hills — just like seven bells! / Belltowers on the seven bells. / 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...»
«8 Moscow — what a giant / And strangely-mannered home! / In Russia all are homeless. / We all to you will come. A knife behind a boot-leg, / 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 b...»
«9 With a red brush / The mountain-ash burned: / The leaves were falling / And I was born. Hundreds of belltowers / Argued at least. / It was the Saturday: / John the Baptist. And in my teeth now / I want to crush / The hot ashberry's / Bitter brush.»
«1 In a shady ring my eyes / She surrounded — insomnia. / With a shady wreath insomnia / Did my eyes bind. At night — the same! / To idols don't pray. / Idol-worshipper — I'll give / Your secret away. To you — day's not enough, / Fire of sun above! You pale-faced one, we...»