I sing the yellow leaf,
That rustling strews
The wintry path, where grief
Delights to muse,
Spring’s early violet, that sweetly opes
Its fragrant leaves to the young morning’s kiss,
Type of our youth’s fond dreams, and cherished hopes,
Will soon be this:
A sere and yellow leaf,
That rustling strews
The wintry path, where grief
Delights to muse.
The summer’s rose, in whose rich hues we read
Pleasure’s gay bloom, and love’s enchanting bliss,
And glory’s laurel, waving o’er the dead,
Will soon be this:
A sere and yellow leaf,
That rustling strews
The wintry path, where grief
Delights to muse.