Oh Lord, it’s time, it’s time. It was a great summer. Lay your shadow now on the sundials, and on the open fields let the winds go!
Give the tardy fruits the hint to fill; give them two more Mediterranean days, the final sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house by now will not build. Whoever is alone now will remain alone, will wait up, read, write long letters, and walk along sidewalks under large trees,
not going home, as leaves fall and blow away.
From The Book of Pictures, 1902-1906