HE last gleam of summer blue is going, The dead leaves lie sodden in the rain, The loud, lonesome wind is blowing, blowing;— Will the golden summer ever come again?
The vines at the lattice sigh and shiver, The trees sob and tremble as in pain, The loud, lonesome wind goes by forever;— Will the golden summer ever come again!
Return, O ye days whose dewy closes Brought peace to the aching heart and brain! Return, bashful lilies and white roses, And bring back the summer-time again!
Awake in the windy midnight, hearing The wild tempest's sorrowful refrain, My heart sinks down sad and heavy, fearing That the summer-time will never come again.
O warm, happy hearts, by love defended, Ye shrink not to feel the winter near, Your sweet blossom-days are never ended, For love makes it summer all the year.
HE last gleam of summer blue is going,
HE last gleam of summer blue is going,