Inexorable as fate evenings advance
with stealthy embrace
in unfolding hours like purple nightshade.
Alas, Summer is dying like a flower that fades.
Make captive the season, O lordly Sun,
hold back the dead leaves of windswept Autumn.
Preserve the mud-nests of martins in the eaves
and the swoop and the swerve of the fast-flying swallows;
hold the breath of the cold days of the Winter to follow.
O, once more let me hear the voice of the lark;
the sound of Persephone released from the dark.
Let butterflies still flutter in a warm breeze
amid the soft murmurs of pollen-thighed bees.
Alas, Summer is dying like pale-petalled poppies;
Make captive the reason, O lordly Sun,
for the dying of light;
withhold the coldness of the inexorable night … .