AUTUMN.

Yes! yes! I dare say it is so,

And you should be pitied, but how could I know,

Watching alone by the moon-lit bay;

But that is past for many a day,

For the woman that loved, died years ago,

Years ago.

She had loving eyes, with a wistful look

In their depths that day, and I know you took

Her face in your hands and read it o'er,

As if you should never see it more;

You were right, for she died long years ago,

Years ago.

Had I trusted you — for trust, you know

Will keep love's fire forever aglow;

Then what would have mattered storm or sun,

But the watching — the waiting, all is done;

For the woman that loved, died years ago,

Years ago.

Yes; I think you are constant, true and good,

I am tired, and would love you if I could;

I am tired, oh, friend, tired out; and yet,

Can we make sweet morn of the dim sunset?

The woman that loved, died years ago,

Years ago.

Not a pulse of my heart is stirred by you,

No; even your tears cannot move me now;

So leave me alone, what is said is said,

What boots your prayers, she is dead! is dead!

The woman you loved, long years ago,

Years ago.