Shining as clear as autumn skies.
I hear thy call upon the breeze
Gay as the dancing wind, and sweet,
And underneath the radiant trees,
O’er lichens gray and darkling moss,
Follow the trace of those light feet
Which never were at fault or loss,
But, by some forest instinct led,
Knew where to turn and how to tread.
Where art thou, comrade true and tried?