1. O you at whom, whenever Time looks,

    its wonder only grows.

  2. Summer has departed; yet never cease,

    ever, to bid its caravan farewell.

  3. Autumn has appeared—so greet the purest

    essence of time, its very heart.

  4. A season fresh and radiant as your form—

    if your form can indeed be likened to anything.

  5. The air grew gentle, so you see no

    breath struggling with its anguish.

  6. And it grew clear: if you gazed upon its farthest

    reaches, I would think you close to it.

  7. Were it to turn into wine,

    I would not forbid drinking it.

  8. So delight in it, O Time’s peerless one,

    and take your fill of it, O Time’s pole.

Sol 6.1