Тоска (Toska)

A harp and lute

Hum wistfully from the shadows

One breath beyond the Veil

Through which I'll never see

Alive.

Their plaintive strains the heart

Of an invisible Lover keening;

Their melancholy singing

Sublime! I know not what voice sings,

What gentle hands do strum the strings!

What wond'rous Love! like a candle, consoling,

Exalts my soul in gold of mourning,

For alas! I never shall meet You alive,

O Nameless, in this world,

But on high.