Rilke's "Herbsttag" brings to mind an autumn-themed poem by Wallace Stevens that has a German title: "Lebensweisheitspielerei." One annotator of Stevens's poems translates the compound-word used by Stevens as "worldly wisdom's game." Another annotator translates it as "practical wisdom's amusement." In any event, here is the poem.
Weaker and weaker, the sunlight falls
In the afternoon. The proud and the strong
Those that are left are the unaccomplished,
The finally human,
Natives of a dwindled sphere.
Their indigence is an indigence
That is an indigence of the light,
A stellar pallor that hangs on the threads.
Little by little, the poverty
Of autumnal space becomes
A look, a few words spoken.
Each person completely touches us
With what he is and as he is,
In the stale grandeur of annihilation.
Wallace Stevens, The Rock (1954).
As I suggested in my previous post on "The River of Rivers in Connecticut," I think that the poems that Stevens wrote late in his life (from, say, 1950 onwards, when he was in his seventies) are wonderful. The verbal playfulness and rhetorical flourishes are still there, but they are toned down, and there is, I believe, an emotional element that is not often found in his earlier poetry.