Twilight

Who is it, what is it, this evening

that pierces through happiness with sighs and weeping?

What is this thing quivering on my heart

like a wounded bird?

Is it a groan of the earth?

Is it a voice of the future,

of the past?

I listen, until it hurts,

to this sound in the silence.

Oh Paradise, isle of forgetfulness,

what cry tonight is rending

your voice which lulls me?

What cry is cutting through

your girdle of flowers

and your beautiful veil of joy?