Fyodor Tyutchev
Madness

Where the earth is seered,
in the sky's misty haze disappears,
in carefree gaiety
lives pitiful insanity.

Beneath rays which burn,
digging into flaming sands,
his glassy gaze is turned
to seek things far above the land.

Suddenly he'll leap, wary as a beast,
pressing his ear against the parched soil,
avidly sure some sound will reward his toil.
With mysterious pleasure his features are creased.

He thinks he hears currents bubbling their mirth
as they course beneath the ground,
and he thinks it's a cradle-song he's found
as they noisily burst from the earth.

Translated by Frank Jude