Rest now, sun king, your head beyond the light, and lean your youthful shoulders on the heather while clouds dream silver dawns throughout the night.
Anxious people fret while it is bright, but rest themselves in darkened beds of feather.
You too, sun king, should rest beyond the light. The path traverses fertile fields. The bushes sing, no singer within sight, a gift before the moon alters the weather. But you, sun king, sleep now beyond the light. Slowly dies the stream, without a fight, through burning bogs that turn our lives to leather, while clouds dream silver dawns throughout the night.