I'll glance in the field, glance in the sky -
Both the fields and sky are my paradise.
Again my undone land
Is diving into the stacks of rye.
Again, in the untended groves
There are inescapable herds,
And the water from the golden fountain
Is cascading down the green hills.
Oh, I believe, it must be, the agony
Over the last suffering man
That someone is effusing
Gentle hands like milk.