Wild Jorokh through that fearsome valley flows—
Flows like a caravan that onward sweeps;
First roaring loud, then hushed into repose,
Groping its way through darkness, on it creeps.
The sounds of Earth are melted into rest,
While strikes the hour of expectation deep;
Earth’s waters heave, against each other pressed,
And breathless listening, all their vigils keep.
Decked out like lovely brides stand all the flowers;
With nuptial joy the forests trembling wait: