There in the East the sun awakes up now,

gushing clear and fulgent rays.

They will adore it — It is time of ascension —

religious believers, believing sabaean.

An Arab, senile, religious,

cannot go to adore the nascent sun

and he stays alone and querulous — complaining,

far away from the sunshine, rutilant and ardent.

It is afternoon. The sun is declining

to the reddish bed, to the bloody decline;

they go flying multicolored birds

to the nests, in an extensive and shallow turn.

It is time of adoration. Stars appear

and the chlamys of the night goes down slow;

and the Arab, old believer won't see them

shining in the high sleepy umbrela.

But he, old and sick, from his bed,

looks at stars, whose light still sparkles

more than the sky ones — and feels the sweet effect

which that resplendent light instills in him.

Though, in front of him, having in the glance, reflexive,

the clear beneficial light that shines,

believing, enraptured, and genuflexuous soul,