He walked in the fields of this region

 Whose heavy earth is drenched with the winter mud

 and its clods are consumed in the summer’s heat.

This land gives its bounty to men with blessed

hands, and whose soul is pure

to discern it uniqueness.

The theater performance of the sculptural present,

this play enacted by the work of farmers,

Is fused in my emotions,

And if my soul is pure

I shall hover over the earth.