Classic Poem

The flowers of the summer have faded away,
And Autumn is here with her mantle of grey;
The sear leaves are falling, the woodlands are mute,
And the sound of brooks wailing ascends like a lute;
The bow'r is forsaken, its beauty is gone—
One poor little robin is chirping alone—
And the winds wi' their soughing how sadly they say,
“All things that are lovely are passing away!”

The blackbird is silent beside the lone spring,
The lav'rock is folding her weary, wet wing;
Afar in the dell of the desolate yew
Is heard the deep wail of the lonely curlew;
The cuckoo is off and away with the spring,
And the heart vainly seeks for some beautiful thing,
While the winds with their soughing, how sadly they say,
“All things that are lovely are passing away!”

So dark and unlovely's the Autumn of life,
For grey hair and mem'ry with joys are at strife;
The bright past has perish'd, the future is black,
The heart's only pleasure's a long looking back—
A long looking back to life's early spring,
To hearts that have wither'd, to hopes taken wing;
While forms of the lost ones come sadly and say,
“All things that are lovely are passing away!”

And were they but shadows, false, fleeting, and vain?
And shall I ne'er meet them in gladness again?
Bright meteors that came but to dazzle the sight,
And then fade away in the bosom of night?
Came they but to leave us in darkness and woe,
Aweary of all fleeting things here below?
“They've gone and we'll follow,” Hope sweetly doth say,
“Where nothing that's lovely shall e'er pass away.”