(Autumn Song) Chill breezes moaning are Where leaves hang yellow: O'er the grey hills afar Flies the last swallow; To come again, my love, to come again Blithe with the summer. But Ah! the long months ere we welcome then That bright new comer. Cold lie the flowers and dead Where leaves are falling. Meekly they bowed and sped At Autumn's calling. To come again, my love, to come again Blithe with the swallow. Ah! might I dreaming lie at rest till then, Or rise and follow! The summer blooms are gone, And bright birds darting; Cold lies the earth forlorn; And we are parting. To meet again, my love, to meet again In deathless greeting, But ah! what wintry bitterness of pain Ere that far meeting!