The autumn leaves, the autumn leaves go by,
In gusty showers of red and gold they fly;
In showers of brown and grey sink low to die.
The old leaves fall not till the buds be born;
And Love's bud lives, though last year's hopes lie shorn.
Wind answers wind with melancholy cry;
The branches lift bare lances to the sky,--
And all my heart is bare, and cold, and dry
As Autumn leaves.
O maiden with the amber hair of morn!
Kill not Love's autumn bud with frosts of scorn.
Come, autumn leaves! and cover from the eye
Of day my germ of love, till spring winds sigh;
For young hope lives, tho' old hopes lowly lie
As autumn leaves.
