That leaves look pale, dreading the winter’s near.
My separation from you has felt just like winter, since you’re what makes the year pleasurable! I’ve felt very cold, and the days have seemed very dark, and everything has been as barren as in December! And yet the time we’ve been apart was actually summer, then fall, the harvest-time when nature gives birth to crops planted in the springlike a woman giving birth after her husband has died. And these abundant fruits of nature seemed like hopeless orphans to me, because summer and summer’s pleasures all depend on you, and, with you away, even the birds are silent. Or if they sing, they do it so dismally that the leaves grow pale with fear, dreading the fact that winter’s almost here.