Bathed in the golden evening glow,
How solemn the forests stand!
Into the gentle voices of little birds
What do the winds whisper, the little birds?
They whisper the world into slumber.
You wishes that are always stirring
In my heart with neither rest nor peace!
You longing that moves my breast,
When do you rest, when do you slumber?
Though the winds and little birds whisper,
You yearning desires, when will you sleep?
What comes borne on the wings of dreams?
What blows upon me with longing, so fondly?
It comes drawn from the distant hills,
It comes upon throbbing golden sun.
Well may the winds whisper, the little birds,
But longing and yearning never sleep.
Oh, when no longer into the golden distance
My spirit hastens on feathered dreams,
Or my eye no longer with its yearning look
Dwells on eternally distant stars;
Then the winds, the little birds
Whisper my yearning into my life.
[Johann Michael] Friedrich Rückert (1788 – 1866) Germany
Translated by David Paley
Source: Poems Without Frontiers
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