At the narrow brook, amid uncertain mists
gazes the wide-eyed ox: in the plain
far stretching to a sea that recedes ever,
go the blue waters of a river:
loom large before his eyes, in the misty
light, the willow and the alder;
wanders a flock upon the grass, now here now there,
and seems the herd of an ancient god.
Shadows with talons spread broad wings
in the air: mutely chimeras move
like clouds in the deep sky:
the sun goes down, immense, behind
huge mountains: already lengthen, black,
the larger shades of a much larger world.