After the summer's yield, Lord, it is timeto let your shadow lengthen on the sundialsAs for the final fruits, coax them to roundness.Direct on them two days of warmer lightto hale them golden toward their term, and harrythe last few drops of sweetness through the wine.Whoever's homeless now, will build no shelter;who lives alone will live indefinitely so,waking up to read a little, draft long letters,and, along the city's avenues,fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen.
Translated by Mary Kinzie
Now that I know
ReplyDeleteThat passion warms little
Of flesh in the mold,
And treasure is brittle,
I’ll lie here and learn
How, over their ground,
Trees make a long shadow
And a light sound.
Knowledge
BY LOUISE BOGAN
August 1922