This is the time. The Summer was
Upon the sun-dials now spread out your
And on our open doorways loose the
Command the ripeness of the harvest's
Let two last afternoons of southerly
Cheer a heavy sweetness to the last wine
And overbrim the year’s maturity.
The homeless shall not think of building
The lonely now will know long loneliness,
Will write long letters, read, wake through
And down gray avenues, erratic and alone
Will wander restless as the blowing leaves.