The charm of Autumn's passing Shall unshake the sadness of its death;To you who built this beauty, These, the crumbling leaves and fields are left.
A flower, late in blooming, Reveals its petals pure as waxen snow;Among the gay leaves seeming, A little touch of Heaven on earth below.
And you stand by in wonder, Lost within this mightly hymn of rest;This brilliant Autumn pageant Numbs your sorrow with forgetfulness.
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