The night ascends calmly over the land

The night ascends calmly over the land,

leaning dreamily against the wall of the mountain,

its eyes now resting on the golden scales

of time, in a similar poise of quiet peace;

and boldly murmur the springs,

singing to Mother Night, in her ear,

of the day

that was today.

To the ancient lullaby

she pays no attention; she is weary.

To her, the blue heaven sounds sweeter,

the curved yoke of fleeing hours.

Yet the springs keep murmuring,

and the water keeps singing in slumber

of the day

that was today.