THE FAIR GRAY LADY

When the charm at last is fled

From the woodland stark and pale,

And like shades of glad hours dead

Whirl the leaves before the gale:

When against the western fire

Darkens many an empty nest,

Like a thwarted heart's desire

That in prime was hardly guessed:

Then the fair gray Lady leans,

Lingering, o'er the faded grass,

Still the soul of all the scenes

Once she graced, a golden lass.

O'er the Year's discrownèd sleep,

Dear as in her earlier day,

She her bending watch doth keep,

She the Goldenrod grown gray.