Commingling, yellow, green, and red—
And all that, trembling, leave their place
And softly greet their mother's face,
As sailing from their lofty top
They in your presence mournful drop,
Remind the thoughtful passer-by,
Thy falling autumn, too, is nigh.
Life has its gay and happy spring,
When birds of every feather sing;
Its warm and verdant summer, brief,