Leaf-strewing gales
Utter low wails
Like violins,--
Till on my soul
Their creeping dole
Stealthily wins....

Days long gone by!
In such hour, I,
Choking and pale,
Call you to mind,--
Then like the wind
Weep I and wail.

And, as by wind
Harsh and unkind,
Driven by grief,
Go I, here, there,
Recking not where,
Like the dead leaf.