DROP, falling fruits and crispëd leaves,
Ye ring a note of joy for me:
Through the rough wind my soul sails free,
High over waves that Autumn heaves.

I watch the crimson maple-boughs;
I know by heart each burning leaf,
Yet would that like a barren reef
Stripped to the breeze those arms uprose!

Under the flowers my soldier lies!
Yet come, thou chilling pall of snow,
Lest he should hear who sleeps below
How, yet in bonds, the captive cries!

Fade swiftly then, thou lingering year,
Test with the storms our eager powers;
For chains are broken with the hours,
And Freedom waits upon thy bier.