Fyodor Tyutchev (1803–1873)
(Trans. Avrahm Yarmolinsky and Cecil Cowdrey)

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.

Fyodor Tyutchev (1803–1873)(Trans. Avrahm Yarmolinsky and Cecil Cowdrey)