Now across the lawn come 
The rays of the dying sun;
With its narcotic murmur 
Now the jealous shadow comes;
I listen, and the voices of spring 
Draw a moan from the awakened leaf.
I love the dusk and the evening hours:
The evening hours are sweet, and I wait.

I wait for the forest to grow dim,
And for my gaze to lose itself 
In the depths of the sky, and to meet 
By chance the trembling gaze of a star.
Among the floating worlds,
Alone in its melancholy,
The pale moon will glide:
The evening hours are sweet, and I wait.

If only in the very vale 
Where at dusk I come to call to her,
I could at least hear her speak softly,
The one I lament and who loves me;
There are moments I think I hear her,
But it is just some leaf in flight.
Ah! I no longer love the evening hours:
The evening hours are sad, and I wait.