Scarcely a tear to shed; Hardly a word to say; The end of a Summer's day; Sweet Love is dead.
Oh, bring again my heart's content, Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!
Autumn's the mellow time.
Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.
Winds and waters keep A hush more dead than any sleep.
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting, For fear of little men.