Classic Poem

When the white snow left the mountains,
When the spring unsealed the fountains,
When her eye the violet lifted
Where the autumn leaves had drifted
'Neath the budding maple-tree,
Amabare me.

Now the summer flowers are dying,
Now the summer streams are drying!
Yet I cry, though lone I linger
Where the autumn's wizard finger
Burns along the maple-tree,
Amabare me!

As the wild-bird, faint and dying,
Follows summer faithless flying,
So my heart, doubt's blank air beating
Broken-winged, is still repeating
While it follows, follows thee,
Amabare me.

Soon will Winter, gaunt and haggard,
Shroud a new grave, sodless, beggared;
Still, though not a flower be planted,
Not a requiem be chanted,
Not an eye with tears be laven,
On a gray stone will be graven
'Neath the leafless maple-tree,