To-morrow’s sun shall caress
Their remnant of loveliness:
In quiet days for a time
Sad Autumn lingering warm
Shall humour their faded prime.
But ah! the leaves of summer that lie on the ground!
What havoc! The laughing timbrels of June,
That curtained the birds’ cradles, and screened their song,
That sheltered the cooing doves at noon,
Of airy fans the delicate throng,—