Summer is Gone-- anonymous, 9th Century, Ireland. Translated by Kuno Meyer
My tidings for you: the stag bells,
Winter snows, summer is gone.
Wind high and cold, low the sun,
Short his course, sea running high.
Deep-red the bracken, its shape all gone --
The wild-goose has raised his wonted cry.
Cold has caught the wings of birds:
Seasons of ice -- these are my tidings.
Other translations: Here, here, here.
The round up is at Hip Writer Mama.