Chanson D’Automne [English]
Leaf-strewing gales Utter low wails Like violins,— Till on my soul Their creeping dole Stealthily wins…. Days long gone by! In such hour, I, Choking and pale, Call you to mind,— Then like the wind Weep I and wail. And, as by wind Harsh and unkind, Driven by grief, Go I, here, there, Recking not where, Like the dead leaf.
Translated by Gertrude Hall