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In Ancient Kotmale
In the beautiful principality, in Kotmale I will build my house of the good soil’s brick With the timber of the ringing forests, And I will cover it with the tiles flat, One on one, as the palms of the farmers –
And in the morning will I see The sun wounded as my heart with a million arrows, Rise between the mountain ranges And spread in the green valley its golden blood.
And I will go into the fields in the seasons – I will sow the grain, a stream between my hands, I will cast the grain in falling nets, And it will stream up round the calves of maidens From the viridian fire of that clay.
And in the kilns of my sun-wed fields, And under the haven of passing clouds As I repose, in those almost everlasting days, In the time ordained, in green calendars Will come my yearned harvest.
In the beautiful principality, in Kotmale I will build my house of the good soil’s brick With the timber of the ringing forests, And I will cover it with the tiles flat, One on one, as the palms of the farmers –
And in the morning will I see The sun wounded as my heart with a million arrows, Rise between the mountain ranges And spread in the green valley its golden blood.
And I will go into the fields in the seasons – I will sow the grain, a stream between my hands, I will cast the grain in falling nets, And it will stream up round the calves of maidens From the viridian fire of that clay.
And in the kilns of my sun-wed fields, And under the haven of passing clouds As I repose, in those almost everlasting days, In the time ordained, in green calendars Will come my yearned harvest.