The songs of summer are over and past! 
The swallow's forsaken the dripping eaves; 
Ruined and black 'mid the sodden leaves 
The nests are rudely swung in the blast: 
And ever the wind like a soul in pain 
Knocks and knocks at the window-pane. 

The songs of summer are over and past! 
Woe's me for a music sweeter than theirs-- 
The quick, light bound of a step on the stairs, 
The greeting of lovers too sweet to last: 
And ever the wind like a soul in pain 
Knocks and knocks at the window-pane.