Turning to gold are the leaves,
Autumn, sad Autumn is here,
Over the scene my heart grieves,
For we have lost summer's cheer.
Rustling and eddying down,
Filling the hollows below,
Leaves that gave summer renown
Now to their wintry beds go.
Sad and alone now, I tread
Paths that in June were deep bowers,
Looking in vain for the red
And the pink of the beautiful flowers,
List'ning in vain for the song
Of the thrush and the dear whip-poor-will.
Flown is the joyous gay throng,
Flown, and the woodlands are still.
Over the river so still
The eddying gusts slowly stray,
Once summer's breath—now a chill
Comes with their passing today,
And though the sun's rays now kiss
The beds of the flowers so dear,
Summer, sweet summer we miss,
Autumn, sad Autumn is here.
So is the Autumn of life;
Flowers are dead that once bloomed,
Hopes in our hearts that were rife,
Now by the years are entombed.
And o'er the pathway of years,
Guided by memory's tread,
We wander again in our tears,
'Tis Autumn—Sweet Summer is dead.
