O blue, blazing region, with vividness of dream thrust upon the world — around the grey spool of your roads I wound my days .
And who will dissolve that woe, and what can ease my sentiment for the savage hissing of your snows that cooled my eastern blood?
At the clear call of your banner's I dared with my body and heart, but you crucified my obstinacy with the tender fingers of a cleaver ...
So I did not wish that Sunrise should crown your sky-rim, when my unprotected dwelling-place flecked with fire-brands your nights .
Yet the heart is awake to the roar of hymns, yet every word blossoms with praise for the gentle sound of your skies that drips in sternness from my song .