I look 'round myself and see,
how the leafy greens are turning gold,
falling like snow from ev'ry tree;
the wind is getting now very cold.
This gilding of the verdant,
this frosting of the saphire lakes,
the geese bound to lands distant,
reminds me its aut'mn; bring out the rakes!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem