HASHA'OT HAK'TANOT SHEL HALAILAH
Hasha'ot hak'tanot shel halailah
hen ulai hag'dolot be'emet.
Basha'ot hak'tanot shel halailah
ha'olam et hahegeh shomet.
Vechofshi mit'chachim umibetza
vetamim ketinok ben yomo
hu doleh me'okyanos hanetzach
hamonei almogei chalomot.
Az haru'ach over charishi
bein achat le'achat ushloshim
umargi'a bayam se'arah
uchvar shtaim pachot asarah
Basha'ot hak'tanot shel halailah
melavim et beitan ahuvot.
Basha'ot hak'tanot shel halailah
mash'kimim metat'ei har'chovot.
Vechor'shot hatanim veha'oren
lochashot el havadi sodot
vechov'shim et pitz'ei habatzoret
hat'lalim hayordim lasadot.
Az haru'ach over charishi
venoshek letzam'rot habroshim,
umosif batayelet lig'losh
uchvar sheva dakot leshalosh.
Basha'ot hak'tanot shel halailah
nir'tamot rakavot hamasa.
Basha'ot hak'tanot shel halailah
ima shuv et yaldah mechasah.
Veyotz'ot hafrigatot leshayet
verochlei hasidkit ashirim,
becholmam al malchut hashamaim
shemotz'im otah rak bashirim.
Az haru'ach over charishi
bein arba lechamesh ushloshim,
uvaboker motz'im achadim
et shvilei hachalav bakadim.
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THE SMALL HOURS OF THE NIGHT
The small hours of the night
Are perhaps the greatest of all.
In the small hours of the night
The world drops the steering wheel.
And free from greed and intrigue,
As innocent as a newborn babe,
It distills from the ocean of eternity
A myriad coralline dreams.
Then the wind passes quietly by
Between one and one-thirty
And calms a storm at sea
And it’s already ten to two.
In the small hours of the night
Women in love are escorted home.
In the small hours of the night
Street sweepers are early to rise.
And the groves of the pines and the jackals
Whisper secrets to the ravine
And the wounds of the drought are salved
By the dews that settle on the fields.
Then the wind passes quietly by
And kisses the tops of the cypress trees
And continues to flow down the promenade
And it’s already seven minutes to three.
In the small hours of the night
The freight trains link up.
In the small hours of the night
A mother again covers her child.
And the frigates embark on a cruise
And the haberdasher vendors are wealthy
As they dream of the heavenly kingdom
That is found only in songs.
Then the wind passes quietly by
Between four and five-thirty
And in the morning some people find
The Milky Way in the bottles. .
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