These days the autumn wind blows very chill. I fear to see in our courtyard Leaves rolling fiercely about like wounded birds, Hurt by invisible arrows— Perish, all perish: beauty, colour, life.
Only the creeper on the western walls Retains his hue, like spots on leopard skin, Bearing the buffets of the wind His sobs and moans are scarcely audible. “I am suffering for you,” he seems to say.
He is suffering for me, the comely creeper! Pitiless, the autumn winds drive on, (Destruction is their mercy!) Drive to the ultimate flicker of life’s flame. Soon the brave creeper from the walls has vanished.
In the sky tonight three stars with greeny gleams List to the empty courtyard after autumn. All’s quiet, not a sob or wail is heard, The fallen leaves lie resting in the mud, — Alone tonight, for whom do I feel so sad?