The too short time

Nine leaves a minute

Swim down shakily;

Each one fain would spin it

Straight to earth; but, see,

How the sharp airs win it

Slantwise away!—Here it say,

'Now we have finished our summer show

Of what we knew the way to do:

Alas, not much! But, as things go,

As fair as any. And night-time calls,

And the curtain falls!'

Sunlight goes on shining

As if no frost were here,

Blackbirds seem designing

Where to build next year;

Yet is warmth declining:

And still the day seems to say,

'Saw you how Dame Summer drest?

Of all God taught her she bethought her!

Alas, not much! And yet the best

She could, within the too short time

Granted her prime.'