Not a whisper’s heard, not a rustling sound,
Now the woodlands sleep till the dawn.
Words can not be found for this charm profound,
Moscow woods from the eve till morn.

Placid streams I see and they seem to be
Moonlight’s silver threads through the dells,
Half-heurd melody, lingering, rhapsody,
Over Moscow lies twilight’s spell.

Tell, me, darling, why your sweet glance is shy,
Why you hand your head when I’m hear,
I can never tell, yet must ever tell,
How my soul longs for love my dear.

Faint horizon’s light in this fading night,
Deep down in your heart you must know.
You’ll recall the sight of this first soft night,
Summer dawn, Moscow’s amber glow.