O sands, thou makest brethren of the stars,
Quiet, with thy inexorable tide,
And holdest in thy grains the gravitas
Withal thou wouldest stand afar to bide.
Unfeeling and uncaring O thou sands
How touched by none, though thou art touched by all?
We raise to thee our weak, imploring hands;
Join not that distant, vast, terrestrial ball.
Thou bearer of the mighty, dreaded steeds,
Upon thy flanks that wing├Ęd chariot rideth.
Can aught yet move, or hasten to their deeds?
If thou stand, they by thy will abideth.

Then grant this one soul's desperate, anguished plea;
'O lente, currite noctis equi!'