Autumn Day
Martyn Bates, Rainer Maria Rilke
Lord, it is time. The summer was so great
Impose upon the sundials now your shadows
And around the meadows let the winds rotate
Commands the last fruits to incarnadine;
Vouchsafe, to urge them on into completeness
Yet two more south-like days; and that last sweetness
Inveigle it into the heavy vine
He'll not build now, who has no house awaiting
Who's now alone, for long will so remain:
Sit late, read, write long letters, and again
Return to restlessly perambulating
The avеnues of parks when leavеs downrain
