Mirra Lokhvitskaya
Before sunset

I love the faded blossoms
Of late-blooming violets and lilacs,
Half-hinted, half-tinted
By an entwining haze of beauty.

The troubled soul is ill
And embraced by the silent dusk;
It is enraptured by approaching sleep
And the peaceful charm of sunset.

What remains for the fire of hopes to illumine?
What can breathe with that bygone joy?
What will rouse
My sinking, half-closed lids?

Nothing. No one. Desires are gone.
The lightning has flashed mutely.
I gaze with a smile of exhaustion
At life, and the vanity of vanities.

The celestial path is hidden in a mist.
Grief subsides, wounds grow mute.
Blessed, blessed is Nirvana’s rest —
To doze ... to disappear ... to drown.

Translated by Temira Pachmuss