These autumn gardens, russet, gray and brown, 
The sward with shrivelled foliage strown, 
The shrubs and trees 
By weary wings of sunshine overflown 
And timid silences,-- 

Since first you, darling, called my spirit yours, 
Seem happy, and the gladness pours 
From day to day, 
And yester-year across this year endures 
Unto next year away. 

Now in these places where I used to rove 
And give the dropping leaves my love 
And weep to them, 
They seem to fall divinely from above, 
Like to a diadem 

Closing in one with the disheartened flowers. 
High up the migrant birds in showers 
Shine in the sky, 
And all the movement of the natural hours 
Turns into melody.