As our hearts to the music of desire.

What matters if winter be nigh?

We sang summer to sleep,

And autumn on its bed of leaves.

Now comes the hour of parting for us,

As the last light flickers and fades;

Even love's afterglow dying, and is dead.

Alas! thou art gone, as are the hours of day;

The hard gem-burning stars do not set! Oh,

In what dark, in what forest roamest thou?

[28]

[28]

24

THE END

Art thou about me

Amid falling leaves

And autumn's circling winds

When the golden shadows

Grow russet and rosy

And the purple sunset sets fire to the sky?

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