There is a spell in autumn early,
One all too brief, of an enchantment rare:
The nights are radiant and pearly,
The days, pellucid, crystal-clear.
Where played the sickle and fell the corn, a mellow,
A warm and breathless stillness reigns supreme;
Spanning the brown and idle furrow,
A dainty thread of cobweb gleams.
The birds have flown, we hear no more their clamour,
But winter's angry winds not soon will start to blow -
Upon the empty fields there pours the azure glow
Of skies that have not lost the warmth of summer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The birds have flown, we hear no more their clamour, But winter's angry winds not soon will start to blow - Upon the empty fields there pours the azure glow Of skies that have not lost the warmth of summer. very fine poem indeed. tony