Fair is the evening sky,

Clear are the stars in the distance,

As clear as the joy of an infant.

Oh, why can’t I tell myself even in thought:

The stars are as clear as my joy!

What is your trouble?

People might query.

Just this is my trouble,

Excellent people: the sky and the stars

Are the stars and the sky, whereas I am a man.

People are envious

Of one another.

I, on the contrary,

Only the beautiful stars do I envy,

Only to be in their place do I wish.