Afanasy Fet
The sounds have calmed down in the wood...

The sounds have calmed down in the wood,
Soon the sunrays will stop be shining either...
My beautiful friend, oh, how much I would
Be glad to see you coming to me hither!

Oh, how soon the charming childish word
To frightfulness will turn intense impatience?
Oh, how soon, like a silent wading bird,
Will you appear overwhelmed with passions?

Transparent mists are sliding over the wave, —
White, coiling up, — as if your palls thrown down...
The fairy time has come, am I an elf
Who dreams of his dryad to come around?

Or, do night shadows, at one with you,
Provoke such a languorous delusion?
Or else, is it like an obsession, due
To passions, — a poetical solution?

Translated by Vyacheslav Chistyakov