A yearning Wish for the old refrains,
The long hushed songs, and long-lost games
A waft of new-mown hay at the door__
The soft sweet-brier's breath once more;
The rare perfume of the cinnamon-rose,
The breath of all the garden grows;
The twitter of swallows, cooing of doves,
And alas! perhaps a sigh for dead-loves!
DRIFT the dead, leaves gaily by,
Falling low or-circling high:
Brilliant maple red as blood,
Tawny gold of cottonwood,
Softest bronze of poplar leaf,
Deepest browns of grass and sheaf.
Youth and verdure both have fled__
Glory, color__Death instead
Making merriest ho1iday!
Just as each will pass away__
Wildest carnival, ere Lent__
Robed like reveler Death is sent!