At dusk half-heard the chill wave laps
Beneath the gondola's slow oar.
...once more a song!
once more the twanged guitar!
...now sad, now gaily ringing,
The barcarolle comes winging;
"The boat slid by, the waters clove;
So time glides by, o'er the surge of love;
The waters will grow smooth again,
But what can rouse a passion slain!"


Lermontov