after Rilke 

Lord, it is time. The summer was so great.
Lay down long shadows on the sundials.
Let loose the winds to run across the plain.

Command the lingering fruits to ripen:
Grant them two southerly days yet
Then drive them to fulfilment and compel
The final sweetness in the heavy wine.

Who has no house, will build himself now now;
Who is alone now, will stay so -
Wake, read, write long letters, go
Back and forth along bare avenues,
Restlessly wandering, where the fallen leaves blow.