All is the same, the summer stillness dreams
In idleness across the sunny leas,
Until for very drowsiness it seems
The wind has gone to sleep within the trees—
Yet we once laughed at what the years might bring,
And now I am alone, remembering.
Song
Blurred is the moon in a yellow stain,
And the clouds are flying before the wind,
The leaves fall fast in a ghostly rain,—