Vyacheslav Ivanov: Autumn
THE AIR is sad and still. A bright transparency!
Enskied a woman veiled in light invisibly
Upholds a balance high above the clear sun’s pouring,
The instant’s equipoise, serene and frail, adoring.
But each sere leaf that from the trees falls, separate,
And lays upon the golden scales its trembling weight
May force the balance Summer’s plenty freighted
Down to the wintry regions soon to darkness fated.