The breezing leaves are gone, the weather's cold,
The summer and spring went to other places,
The lovely sun through clouds shines not as gold,
No more a comely sheen upon the faces.
The nightingale stops with praising the rose,
The parrot stops repeating other songs,
The smiling buds are coming to a close,
Talking about the colds does fill the tongues.
And so, I only see of you a lonely stem,
Who cannot be adorned to shine again
With a priceless gift, ring or precious gem,
As in past days, to make you beauty reign.
  The fading of beauty, what you concealed,
  Our nature tells about, the air revealed.