I sought among the drifting leaves, 
The golden leaves that once were green, 
To see if Love were hiding there 
And peeping out between.

For thro' the silver showers of May 
And thro' the summer's heavy heat, 
In vain I sought his golden head 
And light, fast-flying feet.

Perhaps when all the world is bare 
And cruel winter holds the land, 
The Love that finds no place to hide 
Will run and catch my hand.

I shall not care to have him then, 
I shall be bitter and a-cold -- 
It grows too late for frolicking 
When all the world is old.

Then little hiding Love, come forth, 
Come forth before the autumn goes, 
And let us seek thro' ruined paths 
The garden's last red rose.