On his violin, September
Is playing a bitter-sweet tune.
Summer, nimble and apple-ripe,
Steps out with the gypsy moon,
And is gone - too soon.

Chwery Medi ar ei ffidil
Rhyw chwerw-felys dôn
Llithra'r Haf yn ysgafn ac yn aeddfed
Ymwaith gyda'r sipsi wen o leuad,
Rhy fuan y diflannodd!