Of Summer spent and of Spring gone by—
Of days once glad that are gone forever,
Of lips once true that will answer never,
Of life and love that are but as these
Dead leaves of Autumn grown withered and dry.
But a spirit haunts in the moon’s pale glow
And all is changed as she sings a strain,
While the night winds hearken and lightly blow
Her loose-bound hair in a raven-rain—
And bear her song to the distant closes,