Unshaken still, through wind and rain,
Red autumn rears her blazonry.
But, ah! the barren grief and pain
Of loveliness unshared with thee!
Ah! weariness of leaves and rain.

Wanting thy hand within my hand,
The heart of life eludes my will,
And dimly, through a doubtful land,
The moth of beauty flees me still,
And flutters from my lonely hand.

Until thy mouth be wed to mine,
A secret wound shall bleed in me.
And vain is all the season's wine
And vain her crimson blazonry
Until thy mouth be wed to mine.