Which, when autumn winds are strongest,
Moans the most and echoes longest.
There—with her curls like sunset air,
Like it all balmy, bright, and fair—
Sits Harriet, with her cheek reclined
On arm as white as mountain snow;
While, with a bursting swell, her mind
Fills with thoughts of "Long Ago."
'As from yon spire a funeral bell,
Wafting through heaven its mourning knell,