Alexander Pushkin
The heavy clouds at length are scattering...

The heavy clouds at length are scattering.
O Star of sorrow, star of evening,
Thy ray has silvered the fast-fading plain,
The quiet gulf, the black rocks of the main.
I love thy feeble light in the far heaven,
It wakes old thoughts now unto slumber given.
Have I not seen thee rise, remembered Star,
Across the peaceful land where all things are
Dear to the heart; where poplars stand in state
Along the vale, and myrtles delicate,
And gloomy cypresses, and evermore
The south winds sing. Along the hills and shore,
Full of sweet thoughts, in dreaming idleness,
In older days my feet were wont to press.

Translated by Maud F. Jerrold