There's a sunset but at noonday,
The sun unclothed in the golden array,
The clay pot has been broken,
The sweet milk has been spilt,
Tell the sculptor not to hewn,
Not one soul should commune,
The drum skin is torn already,
There should be no music made,
Tell the flowers of late May;
And let them rest their bloom,
Let the bride not kiss her groom,
Nor should the...