My best English rendering of "Es winkte der abendhauch," poem by Stefan George (found under 'Dreary Dances' in his book 'The Year of the Soul.')
The dusk's garment winks to you
With slanted fortune:
Take and preserve it, yes,
For aye, another one is plucked already.
As when the pale soul, bound in fetters,
yammers to itself, so the proximity of joy
is sensed -- shown, though not understood.
Then the dusk's garment brought to you
The customer who absolved:
Oh, my clouded-over hour,
you know it now, friend, too.