The Jews this evening, under the lindens, near the ramparts, taking care
Not to exceed the Sabbath mile, are promenading their black hats.
Brothers of Elijah and Nabaoth, peace be with you!
Last of the ancient days, Saturday stretches out in the distancing sun.
It’s the day when the earth, even beneath October’s harrow, recalls
That it once bore in its womb soaked with funereal sweetness
The Body of the Son of Man.
In the church, women are mopping the tiles. Later
They will go home to sweep in front of their doorsteps and will fill with oil
The lamp of the seventh day.
We are born to bear time, not to elude it,