The last red rose on the arch has faded,
The border has mourned for its last white flower;
The dahlias droop where the frost has raided,
The grass is wet with an autumn shower;
Dull are the paths with their leaf-strewn gravel,
Cold is the wind as it wanders by,
Still there's a path that a man can travel
Happy at heart though the roses die.
The path to the stable!- Though summer be ended,
Though down through the garden no bird be astir,
This path has new melodies tunefully blended-
The flick of a whip with the clink of a spur!
So-on through the yew-trees where shadows strike chiller,
Across the paved courtyard, at last to the stall
Where, pawing in eagerness, chained on the pillar
Stands, champing his bit-bars, the Pearl of them All!