The hares spring over the sea
The sprats leap over the mountain
The peach grows on the apple-tree
Wine runs out of the fountain.

Sweet breath from the panther's mouth
Sweet words from the sinner's lips
Snow blows from the torrid South
A golden grove from orange-pips

A black horse and a white horse
Drag the chariot of day
Night is bright with the white course
Of the dreadful moon's cold ray

The child is closer to death
Than the man in after years
Where there is no breath
The whirlwind stirs.