An Autumn Song

The dim sun slips adown the sky

That dies from gold to gray;

The homing birds that Southward fly

To my heart's hailing make reply,

Piping “Good-bye, good-bye!”

Southward I turn my wistful eyes,

Southward, where all my treasure lies,

Whither the homing sparrow flies,

Piping, “Good-bye, good-bye!”

The chill blast sweeps the steely sky

That glooms a sullen gray;

Soft summer winds that Southward fly

To my soul's sighing make reply

Breathing “Good-bye, good-bye!”

Southward I turn my longing eyes,

Southward my yearning spirit hies,

Whither or bird or zephyr flies

Sighing “Good-bye, good-bye!”