The wind is sighing,
The rose is dying,
The swallow is flying Over the sea;
The leaf is yellow,
The fruit hangs mellow,
The summer's knell, low, Sounds o'er the lea.
Winter is coming,
East winds are dumbing,
The golden bee's humming. The reaper's at rest;
Young Love, a rover
'Mong corn and clover,
His wanderings over, Flies to my breast.