My youth was just rainstorms and shadows, shot
Through here and there by sunlight’s dazzling rays;
Thunder and rain have so laid waste the plot,
My garden boasts few ruddy fruits these days.
Now I’ve come to the autumn of the mind,
And must work with the rake and spade to save
The ruined muck those showers left behind,
Where water digs troughs deep as any grave.
Who knows if the new flowers dreams impart
Will find in this soil, washed like the seashore’s length,
The mystic nutrient that brings them strength?
O Sorrow! Sorrow! Time devours our lives.
And the secret Enemy who gnaws our heart
Grows stronger on the blood we lose, and thrives!