Along with summer oranges and berries
New warmth brings blossoms from the apple tree,
And from the depths, the season soon carries
An inner sweetness to an airy sea,
Until, in autumn, a distant sun looks down
Which, with pure, pale light observes the bee,
Moving with sure intent from tree to tree,
Now seldom seen, but drinking greedily.
And now its fruit comes full in the chilly air
Ripening in its time of late repair
That for so long seemed now here, now there,
Now grown beyond the embrace of sun-kissed care:
But while one season’s sun begins again,
The fall, forsooth, bears her cool perfection.