The fountain sings, the clouds stand
In clear blueness, white, delicate;
Silent people wander thoughtfully
Down there in the evening-blue garden.
...
Come evening, friend, who surrounds my forehead with darkness
Gliding on paths through soft-green sowing.
Also willows beckon solemnly and calmly;
A beloved voice whispers in the branches.
...
In the evening the sky was overcast.
And through the grove full of silence and grief
A dark-golden shower went.
Distant evening bells faded away.
...
You are rumpled, distorted by every pain
And shake with the discord of all melodies,
You burst harp - a poor heart,
From which gloom's sick flowers bloom.
...
The day’s gold is consumed,
The evening’s brown and blue:
The herders’ flutes swell then die
The evening’s blue and brown
...
The colored pictures which life paints,
I see them gloomily only by twilights,
Like frizzy distorted shadows, cloudy and cold,
Hardly born, already defeated by death.
...
These mountains: blackness, silence, and snow.
The red hunter climbs down from the forest;
Oh the mossy gaze of the wild thing.
The peace of the mother: under black firs
...
Sleep and death, the dusky eagles
Around this head swoop all night long;
Eternity’s icy wave
Would swallow the golden image
...
Where one goes in the evening is not the angel's shadow
And beauty! grief and gentler forgetting alternate;
The stranger's hands grope coolness and cypresses
And his soul is taken by an astonished languishing.
...
So dawns the blue face of spring. Beneath the suckling trees
a darkness strays into evening and demise.
The blackbird’s feeble complaint is caught.
The stifled night appears, a wild bleeding,
...