Autumn is over the long leaves that love us，

    And over the mice in the barley sheaves；

    Yellow the leaves of the rowan above us，

    And yellow the wet wild-strawberry leaves.

    The hour of the waning of love has beset us，

    And weary and worn are our sad souls now；

    Let us part， ere the season of passion forget us，

    With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.