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24
Fyodor Tyutchev
TWILIGHT[1]
Soft the dove-hued shadows mingle,
Color fades, sound droops to sleep.
Life and motion melt to darkness
Swaying murmurs far and deep.
But the night moth's languid flitting
Stirs the air invisibly:
Oh, the hour of wordless longing;
I in all, and all in me.
Twilight—tranquil, brooding twilight,
Course through me, serene and smooth;
Quiet, languid, fragrant twilight,
Flood all depths, all sorrows soothe,
Every sense in dark and cooling
Self-forgetfulness immerse,—
Grant that I may taste extinction
In the dreaming universe.
- ↑ Tr. by Avrahm Yarmolinsky and Cecil Cowdrey.
