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.
