I often pass through the rusty forest landscape,
Whisper to the pathetic voices of the nymphs,
Say your name into torn syllables,
See the bitter light of autumn,
Hear the chord of the low range,
Which the rain is trying the sound
And I hear the cynical laughter of the nervous wind
Appeared in waves, moving the leaves of the trees...
That’s who I am!
Count the moments that pass
By their uncertain state,
count the moments that pass with their uncertain state.
I whisper feverishly:
Summer of our love is gone! It's autumn!
The forest’s autumn rich in longing’s whispers,
The soul’s autumn loaded with echoes
The heart’s autumn with desperate heart beats...
That’s who I am, my dear!
I give credence
To the wind and rain and this autumn;
Can therefore often receive a gift
Thrills and tears...