European Elegies/Spring/Death, the reaper
68.DEATH, THE REAPER
Flowers in the flush of sunrise,Starring the meadowy lawns,Fresh in their fecund beauty,Sweet in the dewy dawns,Wither and waste in a momentCut by the scythe's keen knife;Gay jewelled petals perish—Emblems of human life.
Death is the master mower,Swift is the scythe's fell sweepSwung by his unseen fingers,Reaper of all who reap.Grasses and flowers togetherFall to him as he goes,Ruthless to rank stalks ripeningAnd to the soft new rose.
From the Icelandic of Hallgrimur Pétursson.