Staurostichon: A Poem on the Mysteries of the Lord's Cross

[The matron] fears is afraid the soft gentle [garment], and the chaste woman shudders at the armor instead of a shield, a spear / spare shoulders
Lucan 3: dense cloud. + standing on the right [with] armor.

Which the farmer, amazed, [had] placed [as] a worn-out patchwork vile cloth,
At the lamp of the poor man the lantern, while the native [peasant] at the hemp linen or hempen thread a pero rustic shoe
Pero: a type of footwear for the countryside made of raw leather which they use in winter...

Is stitched together, lest the offend / [?] plants of the feet [be hurt],
Stiff with frost, and the fields crowded with brambles.
The soldier wonders at the thinned-out thread of the sagus military cloak,
[At] the trophy of death sculpted in the seat of life the expanded pain of the heart.
He wonders, and at the same time fears, the priest who covers the vessels,
[And] the sudden hardly seen coverings like a painting on a wall in a swift fall
[He fears] the crosses arriving, and the linens linens painting themselves; the spectator
Turns pale, and the blood, thickened with fear, returns
The heart is the source of blood from which the whole body...

To the fountain the heart from the rivulets from the streams, and the fibers tremble in the breast.
Nor did the turbulent water water act any faster,
When precipitated, [it] drove the millstones from the top of the mountain,
And the minister, having taken the grain for the wheels,
Of flour in the countryside...

Who, tired by the wandering noise and the weight of the sack sack,
And sprinkled with flour, gave his limbs to peaceful gentle sleep rest.
[He] decides; [a shower] is scattered under the roofs in a red rain bloody rain.
On him on him, across the chest, across the shin, across the neck, across the abdomen,
Star-like drops immediately paint the insignia.
What varied noises, what dissonant dogmas, how many
infinite...

Whispers [are heard] muttering because of the varied opinion of heads?
...

I would have believed that the Lord who presides over the high citadel,
Having long seen the world drinking the oblivion of Himself,
Had wished, by healthy signs, to stir [it] more often (as at other times)
Toward the thresholds of light.