Rilke is one of my favorites. Beautiful, haunting, concise... this is a great poem from him for the season:
Lord: it is time. The huge summer has gone by.
Now overlap the sundials with your shadows,
and on the meadows let the wind go free.......
and the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm transparent days,
urge them on to fulfillment then,
and pressthe final sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now, will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone,
will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,
and wander the boulevards, up and down,restlessly,
while the dry leaves are blowing.
and, since i'm an ass, i've paraphrased it below for the modern age:
it's about to get cold, chumps.
better get your fruit before the frost does.
cold? hungry? not gonna change....
alone? get used to it.
by the way, rake your fucking lawn.