I had a dream of autumn in a half-lit window,

My friends and you in their comic play,

From sky as a falcon, gained a victim,

Descended my heart just on your hand.

But time went, going older and mute,

And making a silver patina on frames,

The garden dawn poured the glass

With the bloody tears of september.

But time went, going older. Lax as the ice,

The silk of the arm-chairs crackled,

And suddenly, loud, you stopped silent,

And dream, as a bell ring, had clammed.

I woke up. Dark as the autumn was sunrise,

And wind was carrying rain in a pile

Of the running straws, as after the cart,

A row of birches was racing far in the sky.