Autumn is over the long leaves that love us,

And over the mice in the barley sheaves;

Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us,

And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

The hour of the waning of love has beset us

And weary and worn are our sad souls now;

Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,

With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow. rRMQoodBnAGy0CQByp+k3Ly44XWUXVlXhNQNqi6D5SDQeYEmGtFA0qB+4JcJAsUU