Translation:The seven hills founded – like so many bells grounded!..

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The seven hills founded – like so many bells grounded! The seven bells are by many belfries surmounted By the fourscore fourfold tally – unbounded, uncounted! Ring clearly, prithee – my seven-hilly campanile!

I was born on a bell-ringing red-letter day – On the day of John Godspell’s glory In a neatly-hedged house made of gingerbread clay In the view of the churches’ cupolae

And I loved – how I loved! – the swelling of bronze When the nuns flocked and flowed to the service The humming coal-stove and the hot midday doze And that lore-woman, healing cows soreless …

The all-Moscow scum, the queer, sick and glum – All you riff-raff, go on, see me off and around! Oi, you priest, hear my song, silence me for long – Stop my mouth with the Muscovite ground!

Стихи_о_Москве_(Цветаева)/7