Capitolo 55
provides of a border, or makes to turn above in the small silvery clouds the bright waters the,
dark sea crow sits alarm on the log of a dead date-tree, the
small hurry launches black in and out of the weeds, and never and soon
you shoot under the water in warm search of some small fish; the whole one
apparatus of the life and death it is in the full play, and our inhabitant of a village shouts
to his/her patient oxen and the lives his/her life. Then the gradual obscurity, and
I feed with simple joys, a small discourse, a small tobacco some sad
songs and kind sleep.
The villages are of the immemorial antiquity; their names, them
traditions, their hereditary offices are gone out down of the weak one
past through innumerable generations. History sweeps above them with her
manages that stamp on and his/her conquerors, his/her dynasties of change and her
you read that move--it sweeps them on and he/she leaves them unchanged.
The village is independent. It is a complete organism protoplastic,
you/he/she can be, with the chlorophyll of age colouring his/her institutions, but
anybody the I lead a perfect entity, living. It has inside him
what its existence requires, and it doesn't have ambition. The
torment of the frustrated hope and supersession is unknown in the
village. Us who are striving himself/herself/itself to always roll our perspectives and our
office cans on the hill to Simla you/he/she can learn here a lesson:
Sisyphuses in nobis of quoque of life add to the flat east oculos
Petere of Here that a saevasque of fasces of populo assures
Imbibit et semper victus tristisque recedit.
Nam petere imperium quod inanest nec datur umquam,
Atque in eo semper suffering durum laborem,
East of Hoc mountain of trudere of adverse nixantem
Tamen of quod of Saxum and summojam vertex rusum
Volvitur et planes raptim petit sequora you live.
In this idyllic existence in that, as I have said me, there is anybody
ambition, many other ills is also wanting. There is, for example,