AFTER HEINE

The leaves are falling, falling,

The yellow treetops wave,

Ah, all delight and beauty

Is drawing to the grave.

About the wood's crest flicker

The wan sun's laggard rays,

They are the parting kisses

Of fleeting summer days.

Meseems I should be shedding

The heart's-tears from my eyes,

The day will keep recalling

The time of our good-byes:

I knew that you were dying

And I must pass away,

Oh I was the waning summer,

And you were the wood's decay.