LEAVES are shrinking on the trees,

Where the nests are hidden;

There's a hush among the bees,

As to roam forbidden;

There's the silk of corn that shows

Faded tangles blowing:

So that everybody knows,

Darling, summer's going.

There are insects' wings that gleam;

Locusts shrilly calling;

There are silences that seem

Into sadness falling;

There is not another rose

But the sweet-brier blowing:

So that everybody knows,

Darling, summer's going.

There's the mist that haunts the night

Into morning sailing,

Leaving filmy webs of light

On the grasses trailing;

There's the fierce red sun that glows,

Through the vapor showing:

So that everybody knows,

Darling, summer's going.

Breathe but softest little sigh.

Child, for vanished roses,

For each season, going by,

Something sweet discloses;

And if in your heart has grown

Truth to fairer blowing,

Summer then will be your own,

Spite of summer's going.