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.
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