All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower.
Ah, but in time the heat of noontide passes, and to it there succeed nightfall and dusk, with a return to the quiet fold where for the weary an the heavy-laden there waits sleep, sweet sleep.
Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning, and the noontide night.
I heard the sighing of the reedsAt noontide and at evening,And some old dream I had forgottenI seemed to be remembering.