(Autumn Song)

   Chill breezes moaning are
   Where leaves hang yellow:
   O'er the grey hills afar
   Flies the last swallow;
To come again, my love, to come again
   Blithe with the summer.
But Ah! the long months ere we welcome then
   That bright new comer.

   Cold lie the flowers and dead
   Where leaves are falling.
   Meekly they bowed and sped
   At Autumn's calling.
To come again, my love, to come again
   Blithe with the swallow.
Ah! might I dreaming lie at rest till then,
   Or rise and follow!

   The summer blooms are gone,
   And bright birds darting;
   Cold lies the earth forlorn;
   And we are parting.
To meet again, my love, to meet again
   In deathless greeting,
But ah! what wintry bitterness of pain
   Ere that far meeting!