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CANADIAN AUTUMN TINTS.
13
And love sees, broken-hearted,
The fate that's pictured there.
The brush that paints so brightly
No mortal artist wields;
He touches all things lightly,
But sweeps the broadest fields.
The fairest flowers are chosen
To wither at his breath;
The hand is cold and frozen
That paints those hues of death.
We wandered back together,
With hearts but ill at ease,
In mellow autumn weather,
Past autumn-tinted trees;
The breath of soft September
Left fragrance in the air,
And well we both remember
The love that ended there.