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, The dead leaves lie sodden in the rain, The loud, lonesome wind is blowing, blowing;— Will the golden summer ever come again? 
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? 