The last pale flowers are drooping on the stems,
The last searleaves are fluttering on the trees,
The latest groups of summer’s flying gems,
Are warbling forth their parting melodies.
The winds seem heavy-wing’d, and linger by,
Whispering to every pale and sighing leaf;
And sun-light falls all dim and tremblingly,
Like love’s fond farewell through the mist of grief.
There is a dreamy presence every where,
As if of spirits passing to and fro;
We almost hear their voices in the air,
I oft have pray’d that death may come to me
In such a spiritual autumnal day;
For surely it would be no agony
With all the beautiful to pass away.