quid dicam, iacto qui semine comminus arva insequitur cumulosque ruit male pinguis harenae, deinde satis fluvium inducit rivosque sequentis et, cum exustus ager morientibus aestuat herbis, ecce supercilio clivosi tramitis undam elicit? illa cadens raucum per levia murmur saxa ciet, scatebrisque arentia temperat arva.
Need I tell of him who throws the seed, then, with hoe in hand, closes with the soil and levels the barren sand hills? Then he brings the stream rills he guides to his crops. And when the scorched land swelters and green blades die, lo, he lures water from the brow of the channelled slope. Down the water falls and wakes a hoarse murmur amid the smooth stones, quenching the thirsty soil with its gushing stream.