Sensation of Autumn

Just as when, in a frosty, fatal breeze,

The summer's last blossoms fall sick,

And here and there, yellow and red,

A single leaf shakes in the breeze:

So does my life shiver from

A nightlike, gloomy, cold day;

Why tremble before death,

O heart, with your eternal pulse?

Look around at the leafless bushes!

Why do you still play, like the wind in the shrubs,

With the last, withered pleasures?

Go to your rest! Soon they will die too.