August is gone and now this is September,
Softer the sun in a cloudier sky;
Yellow the leaves grow and apples grow golden,
Blackberries ripen and hedges undress.
Watch and you'll see the departure of summer,
Here is the end, this the last month of all:
Pause and look back and remember its promise,
All that looked open and easy in May.
Nothing will stay them, the seasons go onward,
Lightly the bright months fly out of my hand,
Softly the leading note calls a new octave;
Autumn is coming and what have I done?
Even as summer my young days go over,
No day to pause on and nowhere to rest:
Slowly they go but implacably onwards,
Ah! and my dreams, alas, still they are dreams.
How shall I force all my flowers to fruition,
Use up the season of ripening sun?
Softly the years go but going have vanished,
Soon I shall find myself empty and old.
Yet I feel in myself bright buds and blossoms,
Promise of mellowest bearing to be.
Still I have time beside what I have wasted:
Life shall be good to me, work shall be sweet.