The sun sets its cycle., a misguides perception,
There is no true edge,
For is there really a morning?
and What is a night I; pledge!
But stationed eyes still,
passes past from sight, behind a western way,
yet every moment that earth sits
Contains light of day, and the dark of night
and every setting hill on a westward sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem