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.

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