The human caravan in the Sahara of the world,
On this road of years, which has no way back,
Marches on with dragging feet, burned by the heat of the day.
And drinking from their arms the sweat that drenches them.
The great lion roars, and the tempest rumbles;
On the retreating horizon is neither minaret nor tower.
The only shade there is, is the shade of the vulture
Flying across the sky, seeking its impure prey.
They go steadily on, and now they see
Something green which each one points out to the other!
It is a cypress wood sewn[sic] with white tombstones.
The Lord, to give rest in the desert of time,
Has planted, like an oasis, the cemeteries.
Lie down and sleep, panting travelers!