  Drowsy the noonday air, Under the trees the still shadow Like a fugitive fragment of night Seeks shelter from the sun. The bird has ceased singing, The beggar unable to bear The wealth of the sun Spreads his torn garment, To find peace in The benign shadow of sleep. Ah, lone soul like him, I spread this rag of my song. Under the tree of life Over which blazes the sun of fate. The calm of its shadow Protects me, but where my peace? |
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