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The coming summer heat looks to be cruel

As ever it has been. Grey autumn can

Not easily come soon enough for me.

And what an evil fate is ours, my love,

That such embittered words should ring so true.

That at the highest loft of light and life

You should feel only weariness. That in

The easy feast of triumphed humankind

You should turn bilious and shrink away

From dishes overspiced, from palaces

Too carpeted and too corinthian,

From dances too exhausting ere we could

Complete a single round. I blame you not.

For blaming you is not within my power,

(Small consolation though that doubtless is.)

But it is not for any sin of yours,

Or mine, or ours, or his, or hers, or theirs,

That such a curse of counterbliss you bear.

Blame chance, blame cruel genetics, blame the fates,

But never blame yourself. So feel no shame

When gathered are the Jobs of latter days

To all bemoan against the Lord. You bear

A cross no lighter than the most of these.

Lift up thy voice! And say, I too am cursed.

My days are filled with song I cannot hear,

My nights are hung with stars I cannot see,

My lands o'erflow with honey, and with milk,

For all tongues but mine own. And then return

To whatsoever autumn comfort I

Can give you. Coolness, quiet, and the calm.

For if you cannot dance, then I would sit

Beside you. If you cannot eat, then I

Would sooner fast with you than would break bread

With kings and emperors. And if the light

Is too intensely hot for you, then I

Will blow the candles out, will shut the blinds,

Will bid the sun set swiftly. Summer's heat,

Though cruel indeed, will not eternal be.

Autumn will come for each of us, for me,

And you as well. And should it come today,

Or twenty seven thousand years from now,

To take you from me, that day will I say,

And not before, that autumn comes too soon.