And then again my hands encounter the everlasting hieroglyphs carved everywhere, and sometimes the legs of a colossus seated on its throne.

The stones are still slightly warm, so fierce has been the heat of the sun during the day.

And certain of the granites, so hard that our steel chisels could not cut them, have kept their polish despite the lapse of centuries, and my fingers slip in touching them.
There is now no sound.

The music of the night birds has ceased.

I listen in vain--so attentively that I can hear the beating of my heart.