Indian Summer [Russian translation]

These are the days when Birds come back

A very few—a Bird or two

To take a backward look

These are the days when skies resume

The old—old sophistries of June

A blue and gold mistake

Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee

Almost thy plausibility

Induces my belief

Till ranks of seeds their witness bear

And softly thro' the altered air

Hurries a timid leaf

Oh Sacrament of summer days

Oh Last Communion in the Haze

Permit a child to join

Thy sacred emblems to partake

They consecrated bread to take

And thine immortal wine!