In the evening, when the bells ring peace,

I follow the wonderful flights of birds,

That in long rows, like devout processions of pilgrims,

Disappear into the clear autumn vastness.

Wandering through the garden closed for the night

I dream after their brighter destinies

And hardly feel the motion of the hour hands.

Thus I follow their journey over the clouds.

Then a breath of decay makes me tremble.

A bird complains in defoliated branches.

The red wine sways on rusty trellises.

Meanwhile like the death-dances of pale children

Around dark fountain edges that weather,

Shivering blue asters bend in the wind.