By a comet flashing through the skies, there, summer has come to the end, and the signs of the soon coming autumn can be seen in the woods and on lands.
The dews are in fields growing misty, and the grasses drooped close to the earth, and the birches are gleaming so dimly, and I pity and welcome them both.
And just on the threshold of parting the doubts and fears are light. I take without pity or torment the flow of the river in sight. Yet, song of mine faded away, the bee doesn’t hum, and lost mirth, and somewhat inaudibly cast off my boat from the berth.