Fyodor Tyutchev
The Twins

There are twins. For the earthborn
they are gods, Death and Sleep,
like brother and sister wondrously akin,
Death's the gloomier, Sleep is gentler.

But there are two more twins:
there are no finer twins in the world,
and there's no fascination more fearsome
than he who's surrendered his heart to them.

They're no in-laws. Their union is one of blood,
and only on days ordained by fate,
with their unsolvable mystery
do they charm us, enchant, fascinate,

and who, in an excess of sensation,
when blood boils and freezes in his veins,
can claim he's never tasted your temptations,
Suicide and Love?

Translated by Frank Jude