O boundless, boundless evening.
Soon the glow
Of long hills on the skyline will be gone.
Like clear dream country now, rich-hued by sun.
O boundless evening where the cornfields throw
The scattered daylight back in an aureole.
Swallows high up are singing, very small.
On every meadow glitters their swift flight,
In woods of rushes and where tall masts stand
In brilliant bays.
Yet in ravines beyond
Between hills already nests the night.
(Text translated by Christopher Middleton, from the German of George Heym)