A Song of Autumn

I. The woods are lowly weeping, thro’ the trees, The pale leaves rustle without glee, The Autumn’s shadow falls on every flower, Whispers soft as silence echo me.

II. A sorrow’s thread weaves purple on the grass, The fading gold doth dim the heavens’ brow; Days go by like the ghosts of the lovers past, And the chilly grasp of night is now.

III. So sing, O hearts of fire, of cheer, Fresh winds blow softly—mourn a little while; The crimson mountains lift with cheerful cheer, But clouds shall linger o’er the pale horizon pale.

• Robert Buchanan