The granary here is filled with the scent of harvested fields; There is no more need to walk the paths of the earth—no need To go to the distant fields like a seasonal farmer anymore! Resistance, sieges, suffering, clamor—there is no time to hear them— I no longer wish to know where the Emperor has dressed as a jester, Or where Babylon is being crushed into dust once again! Do not bring the color of the soldiers' torches before my eyes, Silence the drums—let the mockery of kingdoms and empires Drown in the darkness, like the wings of an owl! There is no work here—no ache of enthusiasm, no worry of initiation; The many agitations of the mind have ended here. The melancholic hours of the morning are filled with the sound of lazy flies, The earth looks like land on the banks of a magical river! All the fading sunlight, having found its release, gathers here, From the summer sea, the song of sleep comes for drifting eyes; Here, many days will pass lying on the couch— Loving the desire to sleep while staying awake. Here, one need not be startled—there is no time to be terrified; There is no pain of effort—no fear of enthusiasm here! Work does not pile up in the hands here, The ache of thought does not accumulate in the head! Beauty will no longer come to hold the hand— Nor keep its gaze upon the eyes; Love will not come— The work of the living worm inside the brain has ended here! The melancholic hours of the morning are filled with the sound of lazy flies, The earth feels like a land on the banks of a magician’s river; All the fading sunlight, gathers here, having found its release, From the summer sea, the song of sleep for the eyes comes drifting in, Here, many days will pass lying on the couch, Loving the desire to sleep while staying awake!
