(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!