Classic Poem

Now, O now, in this brown land
— Where Love did so sweet music make
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
— Forbearing for old friendship' sake,
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.

A rogue in red and yellow dress
— Is knocking, knocking at the tree;
And all around our loneliness
— The wind is whistling merrily.
The leaves — they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.

Now, O now, we hear no more
— The villanelle and roundelay!
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
— We take sad leave at close of day.
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything —
The year, the year is gathering.