Feasting finished, choirs quiet

  Feasting finished, choirs quiet,
  wine-jugs drained,
  fruit-baskets scattered,
  glasses left with wine unfinished,
  crumpled party crowns on heads,
  only incense-sticks still smoking,
  in the bright, deserted chamber,
  having feasted, late in rising,
  stars were shining in the sky,
  night had reached its midway point.

  Above the restless city,
  over courts and houses,
  thoroughfares and noisy clatter
  and the dull, red lighting,
  over sleepless crowds of people,
  over all this earthly tumult,
  in the high, too distant heavens
  pure stars were burning,
  answering the gaze of mortals
  with their uncorrupted shining.