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With the Setting of the Sun: Chaim Nachman Bialik
At the setting of the sun, approach my window,
Embrace me,
Hold fast to my neck, put your head on mine,
And so cling fast to me.
As we cling closely, we silently lift our eyes
To the terrible radiance.
We will set all our hearts’ yearnings free
On the seas of light.
They will rise up to the heavens, a yearning flight of doves.
In the distance they will sail and become lost;
And upon the purple mountain tops–radiant red islands–
They will fall in silent flight.
They are the distant islands, the elevated worlds
Which we saw in dreams;
Which made us strangers under the heavens
And our lives–into Hell.
They are the islands of gold for which we have thirsted
As for a native land;
And which the night stars shadowed forth
With a flickering beam of light.
Upon them we remain, friendless and alone,
Like two flowers in the wilderness;
Like two stray souls seeking something lost for all eternity
In a strange land.
