It was autumn and very long ago,
And drops of rain kept falling slow
And a flute-player played on his flute below,
From the fields below the town.
And now they have told me so constantly
That the place was a city of dreams.
That my reason believes it; but in my heart,
In my heart most real it seems!
And thro' town and country I still must go
The shadowy roads along,
Seeing always that closed window
And hearing that flute-player's song.
And when the sun most rich and dim
Sinks down behind dark towers,
And there comes a wind from the world's rim
And from somewhere a scent of flowers—
I stand again on the bridge of that city
And hear that flute-player;
And my Love looks down on me in pity,
And I look back at her.
—One look and never the same again
Are the roses on the wall;
One look and forever the midnight rain
With a different sound must fall!