Downstream the river sings its veil of leaves and sky, and the light crowns itself in pumpkin flowers. Oh pain, pain of the poor, clean pain, always alone, pain from a hidden spring and from a distant dawn...

You can see them from the railings
    on the mount,
    the mount,
    the mount,
horses and shadows of horses
carrying sunflower seed.

Their eyes in the shady places,
cloud over with huge night.
The salty dawn is rustling
in river bends of breeze.

A sky of white horse's
closes its quicksilver eyes,
making the calm penumbra
a resting place for hearts.
And the water turns cold
so no one will touch it.
Wild,
uncovered water
on the mount,
    the mount,
    the mount...