Why art thou gone from us, Soul of all beauty and joy?
Now thou art gone the berry drops from the arbutus,
The wind comes in from the ocean with wail and the
autumn is sad,
The yellow leaves perish, whirled wild whither no one can
know.
As the crisp leaves are crushed in the woods, so our hearts
are crushed at thy parting;
As the woods moan for the summer departed, so we mourn
that we see thee no more.