Lord: it is time. The summer was great.
Lay your shadows onto the sundials
and let loose the winds upon the fields.

Command the last fruits to be full,

give them yet two more southern days,
urge them to perfection, and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Who now has no house, builds no more.
Who is now alone, will long remain so,

will stay awake, read, write long letters
and will wander restlessly here and there
in the avenues, when the leaves drift.
 

(trans. J. Mullen)