Now Autumn's Fire Burns Slowly Along The

Fairies, Arouse! Mix With Your Song Harplet And Pipe, Thrilling And Clear, Swarm On The Boughs! Chant In A Throng! Morning Is Ripe, Waiting To Hear.

Tantarrara! The Joyous Book Of Spring Lies Open, Writ In Blossoms.

Now Autumn's Fire Burns Slowly Along The Woods And Day By Day The Dead Leaves Fall And Melt.

Writing Is Learning To Say Nothing, More Cleverly Every Day.

Scarcely A Tear To Shed; Hardly A Word To Say; The End Of A Summer's Day; Sweet Love Is Dead.