Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by. Now overlaps the sundials with your shadows, and on the meadows let the wind go free. Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine; grant them a few more transparent days, urger them on to fulfillment, and press the final sweetness into heavy wine. Whoever has no house now, will never have one. whoever is alone will stay alone, will sit, read, write long letters through the evening, and wander on the boulevards, up and down, restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.