Lord it is time. The summer was so wide.
Lay your shadow on the sundials
and set free the wind on the fields.
Tell the last fruits to grow full;
give them yet two more southern days,
press them to ripeness, and drive
the last sweetness into the full wine.
Whoever has no house will not build one now.
Whoever is alone now will stay alone a long time,
will waken, read, write long letters,
and wander the avenues, back and forth,
restlessly, while the leaves are blowing.
Rainer Maria Rilke trans. C. A.