Autumnal

THE Autumn leaves are dying quietly,

Scarlet and orange, underfoot they lie;

    They had their youth and prime

    And now's the dying time;

Alas, alas, the young, the beloved, must die!

They are dying like the leaves of Autumn fast,

Scattered and broken, blown on every blast:

    The darling young, the brave,

    Love had no power to save.

Poor Love-lies-bleeding, Love's in ruins, downcast.

Alas, alas, the Autumn leaves are flying!

They had their Summer and 'tis time for dying.

    But these had barely Spring.

    Love trails a broken wing,

Walks through deserted woods, moaning and sighing.