Rainer Maria Rilke (4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926 / Prague / Czech Republic)

Here's what I think to be a much better translation by Walter Arndt

Lord: it is time. Great was the summer's feast.
Now lay upon the sun-dials your shadow
And on the meadows have the winds released

Command the last fruits to round their shapes;
Grant two more days of south for vines to carry,
to their perfection thrust them on, and harry
the final sweetness into heavy grapes.

Who has not built his house, will not start now.
Who is now by himself will long be so,
Be wakeful, read, write lengthy letters, go
In vague disquiet pacing up and down
Denuded lanes, with leaves adrift below.

This fine poem is redolent of the slow, easy movements of Autumn, far better conveyed in the original language (thank you, Jo Bennett) than in the translation.
For instance, ‘Befiehl den letzten fruchten voll zu sein’ suggests the slow unfolding of time needed for the fruit to ripen entirely missing from the abrupt’bid the last fruits to be full.’
This reminds me of the definition of poetry as that which gets left out in translation.

Herbsttag

Herr, es ist Zeit. Der Sommer war sehr groß.
Leg deinen Schatten auf die Sonnenuhren,
und auf den Fluren laß die Winde los.

Befiehl den letzten Früchten voll zu sein;
gib ihnen noch zwei südlichere Tage,
dränge sie zur Vollendung hin und jage
die letzte Süße in den schweren Wein.

Wer jetzt kein Haus hat, baut sich keines mehr.
Wer jetzt allein ist, wird es lange bleiben,
wird wachen, lesen, lange Briefe schreiben
und wird in den Alleen hin und her
unruhig wandern, wenn die Blätter treiben.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Aus 'Das Buch der Bilder'