In the pleasant orchard closes
Fruits are ripening one by one.
Cool between its fringing grasses,
Drowsily the river flows,
Singing, but the sudden hushes,
Not as in the spring it rushes,
Widened by the melting snows.
Full-leafed trees scarce lift their branches,
Voiceless all the feathered band;
Fledglings faltering flights are trying,