Hath faded Nature’s robe of living green;
While, thro’ their naked boughs the wintry breeze,
Makes mournful music o’er the vanished scene—
The funeral requiem of those blushing flowers,
That bloomed and flaunted in the sunny air,
When the coy spring-time and her laughing hours,
The graceful monarchs of the season were.
The song is hushed!
And gone those warblers for a softer clime,
Whose morning welcome, and whose evening hymn