Summer
Hermann Reutter
The time of year can still be seen, and the fields
of summer are in their brilliance, in their mildness;
the field's green is gloriously outspread,
where the brook glides downward in ripples.
So the day moves through mountain and valley,
with its inevitability and its radiance,
and clouds move calmly in high spaces,
as though the year in majesty stood still.