Fyodor Tyutchev
Holy night has climbed across the sky...

Holy night has climbed across the sky,
joyful, dear day,
a golden coverlet, is folded back,
that cover cast across the chasm.
Like a vision, the outer world has faded.
Like an orphan, man stands impotent and naked,
facing the dark abyss.
Abandoned to himself, his intellect is obsolete,
his thought is homeless.
In a great ravine heТs immersed,
in his soul,
and from outside thereТs no support,
no limit...
Like a long-gone dream,
that which was life-bright appears,
and in the alien,
in the unresolved,
in the nocturnal,
his birthright looms clear.

Translated by Frank Jude