In the glow of dusk, when the world turns to dreams, The stars wink softly, like lanterns of old; I wander the meadows, where loveliness gleams, And the night wraps around me, a cloak made of gold.

Fireflies flicker, like whispers of light, And the moon rises high, casting silver on grass; In this moment of magic, I lose my way, Yet find in the darkness, the beauty steadfast.

• Sigbjørn Obstfelder