Translation:Twilight (Silva-2)

by José Asunción Silva

For works with similar titles, see Twilight.

Tableau mistérieux que la
vue offre à la pensée.

CHARLES NODIER

It is the mysterious hour in which the laborer
With the bell resounding from Angelus
Good-bye to the dying day,
Says the jeering bell,
In his little white house, walking slowly
    humbly he goes home.
It is the hour in which the clouds from the west
    ring the evening with fire,
in which the sun of the dead illuminates
    the meadows and the forests,
And the angel of evening drives to God
    mute prayers,
It is the hour in which from the lakes
    the mists without colors come,
Like from the dark depths of the spirit
    the choruses of visions
In which through fairy tales
    or stories
The protecting elves
    change the rooms of children,
It is the hour of the sweestest harmony
    and of mystical voices,
In which through clouds and mists,
    the nervous soul returns
To those happy days of infancy
    that passed quickly,
It is the hour in which the breeze between the trees
    has vague words,
It is the hour in which life is sleepy
    from night's kiss.