The day is now over.
The hour’s come I was waiting for.
After labor so material,
How sweet a spiritual hour.
I’m bathed here in tranquility.
I hear no sound around me.
But the sound of the pendulum,
Counting out drops of time.
The hour of prayer, hour of study.
Hour of dreaming, of fantasy,
Hour divine, full of ecstasy.
In this hour there’s so much happiness!
Only one thing’s missing to perfect it:
–In the hearth the singing of a cricket!…
2 April 1963.
Translated by Lenora Timm
This poem in breton