A seed of sorrow is cast aside.

A wish is spun on a leafy bough.

Summer rides upon the crystal tide,

and the wind is a part of me now.

A sash of silver girdles the night.

It sparkles where the wide rivers flow.

I hear the echo of birds in flight,

and I am saddened to see them go.

The sun burns bright, but the winds are cold.

The nights moan as if they are in pain.

Morning breaks solace, the dreams I hold;

and the tears are a fire to my brain.

I fill a bright cup with sunlight-splash.

I drink to autumn and acorn fall,

and I watch the dead leaves turn to ash.

It's impossible to count them all.

A chestnut redolence fills the air.

It's the most piquant and rousing wine,

and the parching soil provides a chair

as I repose by the singing pine.

Lost in dreams of tempestuous shame,

I sigh, I am lost, and I am mad.

It touched me once, that passionate flame;

and without its warmth, my heart is sad.

Autumn lives and breathes inside my heart.

It is a portion that I must bear;

but from the same seed, summer shall part.

It shall bloom again! Wondrously fair!

And Lord of Life! How I love Your love!

How I love the signs You care to show -

from the field of stars that hangs above

to the wind and wave, their mighty flow.

You cast Your seeds, but carefully so.

No shadow is planted without the sun.

You love to the last, from high to low.

Your works are mighty and never done.