Autumn Day

Lord: it is time. The summer was immense. Lay your shadows on the sundials, and over the meadows let the winds go free. Command the last fruits to be full. Give them another two more southerly days, and urge them on to fullness and drive the last sweetness into the heavy wine, who knows: if perhaps this is no longer an evening for the summer to remember.

Who knows: it must be now, Lord: none of these poems were written. In the face of life, all is easy. “All that has not been made; now show it mine– Lord: you must be the messenger of the dream.”

• Rainer Maria Rilke