Langour is in thy heart and the slumber is still on thine eyes. Has not the word reached passed to thee that the flower is reigning in splendour among thorns? Wake, oh wake up! Let not the time pass in vain!
At the end of the stony path, in the country of virgin solitude my friend is sitting all alone. Deceive him not. Wake, oh wake up!
What if the sky pants and trembles with the heat of the midday sun, what if the burning sand spreads its mantle of thirst! Is there no joy in the deep of thy heart? At every footfall of thine, will not the harp of the road break out in sweet music of pain?
