Fyodor Tyutchev (1803–1873)

OH, thou, my wizard soul, oh, heart

That whelming agony immerses,

The threshold of two universes

In cleaving these, tears thee apart.

And so two alien worlds are thine:

Thy day of morbid passionate living,

Thy sleep, vague revelations giving

Of spirits secret and divine.

Then let the tortured bosom beat

With fatal passion and vagary;

The soul is fain, even as Mary,

To cling forever to Christ’s feet.