Sinks to its setting; then silent he is
And listeneth and boweth and bendeth his head,
Sage in his thoughts, and thrice he shaketh
145 His feathers for flight; the fowl is hushed.
Twelve equal times he telleth the hours
Of day and night. ’Tis ordained in this way,
And willed that the dweller of the woods should have joy,
Pleasure in that plain and its peaceful bliss,
150 Taste delights and life and the land’s enjoyments,
Till he waiteth a thousand winters of life,