You are the autumn of my october,
your jolly apt resembles cranberries,
your presence is wintry stillness that awakens me,
from your golden falls that I hearken in dreams,
You wept since june,
In the dates of my calendar.
A day will be like a year,
and this year neverending,
Alas! Let not winter go by your modesty,
Rejoice all my agonies,
Nevertheless be my season solely.