Lord: it's enough! The enormous summer's done.
Lay your shadows now across the sundials,
and let the wind loose over the fields, to run.

Tell the last fruits to swell out to their fullest,
allot them two more days of southerlies,
push them to their fulfillment here, and squeeze
their last sugars for the richest wine of the harvest.

Whoever's homeless now, evermore will be so.
Whoever's alone will be lonely a long while,
will wake, read, write long letters, stroll for miles
the tree-lined boulevards, wander to and fro,
restlessly as the leaves drifting in piles.