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JAN KOCHANOWSKI - SONG II, 7
SONG 7, BOOK II
The sun is burning, earth turns truly to ashes,
The world's veiled in dusty lashes,
Rivers are running nearly dry
And parched plants are crying out for rain from the sky.
Children take jug to well, table in linden's shade,
Where the family master's pate
Is protected from hot summer
By the leaves, a pleasant reward for the planter.
My lute, stay with me; for your chords so kind
Bring comfort to my troubled mind,
And all of my sleepless concerns
Fly beyond the Red Sea on the wind's swift currents.
Translated by Michael J. Mikoś