What makes your leaves fall down
Ye drooping autumn flow'rs
What makes your green go brown
Ye fading autumn bow'rs
Oh! Thou complaining gale
That wand'rest sad and lone
What sorrows swell the tale
Of that funereal moan

Have ye felt love like mine
And met with the return
That ye do thus decline
And thus appear to mourn
Ah no content me thinks
Ye glide into decay
As gentle ev'ning sinks
At close of summer day

Fall down ye leafy bow'rs
And drift upon the gales
Fade on ye sleepy flow'rs
It is my heart that wails
Blow on blow on thou quiet wind
It was a fancied moan

The echo of a mind
That feels its pleasure gone