Leaf-strewing gales
Utter low wails
Like violins,-
Till on my soul
Their creeping dole
Stealthily wins….
Days long gone by!
In such hour, I,
Choking and pale,
Call you to mind,-
Then like the wind
Weep I and wail.
And, as by wind
Harsh and unkind,
Driven by grief,
Go I, here, there,
Recking not where,
Like the dead leaf.