Oh sadness of decay!
The autumn fields are grey,
And long-forgotten is the hedge-row tune;
How sick the shattered fern,
How harsh the woods and stern,
How pale and palsied is the afternoon
Oh gladness of decay!
The wild buds store the May,
The hushed lanes listen for the blackbird’s song;
The dumb trees hoard their strength,
The shy fern peeps, at length
Old Death is quickened, and the days are long.