Sunset is coming, mountains are shadowed,
Birds sink to quiet, fields cease their murmur,
Peoples are gladly stopping their labors,
But I am looking, while my heart’s flying
To a dark garden in Ukraina;
Flying, I’m flying, my thoughts ever roaming,
Thus my poor heart is receiving some quiet.
Fields are in shadow, mountains and forest,
In the blue heaven, stars are appearing.
Stars, O bright stars, for I am weeping,
Have you come out yet there in Ukraina?
Are the black eyes there awaiting your coming
In the blue heaven? Have they forgotten?
If they’ve forgotten, do not disturb them.
Let them not notice what I am suffering!