ON the white head of the old man divine | |
| The sun in torrents falls—the August sun— | |
| In the fields the yellow grasses smoke with heat: | |
| He from his place upon the pillar’s height | |
| A living statute stands, an iron form, | 5 |
| Yet animated by the breath of God. | |
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| In Sagittarius is the sun. From heaven | |
| Upon the desolate earth, naked and bare | |
| Like some poor mendicant’s hand, in large white flakes | |
| Falls the abundant snow. All things that breathe | 10 |
| Seek shelter, and the polar bear alone | |
| Wanders—yet still upon the column’s height | |
| The sacred figure of the old man stands. | |
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| Now in the unending rain each field becomes | |
| A lake, and every furrow is a stream. | 15 |
| From the monotonous grey sky pour down, | |
| Continuous, the waters obstinate. | |
| Drenched, like a solitary tree aloft | |
| Still on the fatal column dost thou stand, | |
| O King of Saints and Martyrs Simeon. | 20 |
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| O Saint, I tremble at the thought of thee. | |
| And well I deem the Sun, and all the stars, | |
| And wandering birds who now for forty years | |
| Have contemplated in the fields of air | |
| Thy meagre profile pale, and all the winds | 25 |
| Who shook in storms thy venerable beard, | |
| White, hoary like the foam o’ the sea, and all | |
| Nature, have trembled as they looked on thee. | |
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