The sun will rise higher,
it being today Sunday.
The breeze blows and a haystack
stirs on yonder hill.
All will wear their sunday best
and will be light-hearted;
Watch the children in the street,
see the flowers in the garden.
Now chiming bells
mean God is real.
Over there the clouds disperse
and the sky is growing bigger.
Leave the world to its joy
and come, my soul, I'll sing to you,
like a happy little ditty,
a song of death.
Published in Elegies and Satires, Athens 1927.
The original text is in the public domain.
Translated from demotic Greek by writeup author, 2004
This translation is hereby placed into the public domain.