In the branches of the oak, The moonlight sifts— Softly breathing, A nightingale sleeps.

The leaves whisper secrets, Rustling dreams. How sweet the night, With its pale and tender gleams.

The sky’s a vast expanse, Of azure and calm, Where shadows gather, And the cool winds balm.

In this peace, I find, A world reborn, Where nature speaks, And the soul is worn.

• Andrei Bely