When the charm at last is fled
From the woodland stark and pale,
And like shades of glad hours dead
Whirl the leaves before the gale:

When against the western fire
Darkens many an empty nest,
Like a thwarted heart's desire
That in prime was hardly guessed:

Then the fair gray Lady leans,
Lingering, o'er the faded grass,
Still the soul of all the scenes
Once she graced, a golden lass.

O'er the Year's discrownèd sleep,
Dear as in her earlier day,
She her bending watch doth keep,
She the Goldenrod grown gray.