53
The poet has his days
numbered,
like all men; but they’re so,
so various!
The hours in the day and the four seasons,
a bit more wind, less sun,
are the diversion and accompaniment,
always different, for his passions,
always the same; and the weather
when he gets up is the day’s great event,
his joy as soon as he is conscious.
Above all other things he’s cheered by one –
contrasting lights, beautiful days
as full of movement
as the crowd in a long story,
where storm and blue sky do not last,
and envoys of misfortune alternate
with those of victory.
With an evening’s red glow,
his happy state
returns, and with the clouds it changes colour,
even if there’s no change in his heart.
The poet has his days
numbered,
like all men, but they’re so,
so blessed!