Summer and Fall (To My Goddaughter)

Vladyslav Nazarchuk

Eyes downcast, by the chilly brook I stayed
    Lamenting, “Summer! Thou hast left, it feels?
    In thy warm rays, thy golden locks, I played…
    Zephyr now turns Notus, come my fears—
    Again my former toil, familiar tears!”
    But red-haired autumn called out from behind:
    “Enough, ungrateful friend! The harvest nears,
    The trees are crimson-gilt—am I not kind?
How nice that joy in every season one can find!”