Now, O now, in this brown land 
Where Love did so sweet music make 
We two shall wander, hand in hand, 
Forbearing for old friendship' sake, 
Nor grieve because our love was gay 
Which now is ended in this way. 

A rogue in red and yellow dress 
Is knocking, knocking at the tree; 
And all around our loneliness 
The wind is whistling merrily. 
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all 
When the year takes them in the fall. 

Now, O now, we hear no more 
The vilanelle and roundelay! 
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before 
We take sad leave at close of day. 
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- - 
The year, the year is gathering.