Lord, it is time, a lengthy summer ends, <br />so throw your shadow onto sundial clocks, <br />as I await the forest winds you send, <br />command all fruits to ripen, full and well <br />and give to them two days of southern sun <br />to thus ensure perfection as they swell <br />in luscious sweetness, soon thy wine be done. <br /> <br />For those without a house, I say, oh hear <br />you shall not build and, if you are alone <br />no soul will come to you because of fear <br />and as you wander through the avenues of stone, <br />long nights you lay awake as you compose, <br />write letters as within you something grieves. <br />As tired eyes desire, soon, to close <br />you watch there, on the streets, the drifting leaves.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/translation-rilke-s-herbsttag-autumn-day/
