琥珀色的阳光躺在秋天红润的林地上;我看着我周围的美丽，泪水涌上我的眼眶。因为吹过草地的风从遥远的西南吹来，那里是我们英勇的战士在战斗，英勇的死者安息的地方。金杖斜着，紫菀在摇曳，从战场吹来的微风，从坟墓吹来的气息。在那飘散的气息面前，树叶纷纷落下;同样快，在战场上，我们的同胞倒在了死亡中。美丽在我的小路上，森林的战利品被丢弃;他们用紫色、金色和红色点缀着长满草的小山。那些在他们的国家英勇战斗的人的死眠是美丽的?为正义而死。但谁又能安慰生者呢，他们的家已经没有了光明; The matron whose sons are lying In graves on a distant shore; The maiden, whose promised husband Comes back from the war no more? I look on the peaceful dwellings Whose windows glimmer in sight, With croft and garden and orchard, That bask in the mellow light; And I know that, when our couriers With news of victory come, They will bring a bitter message Of hopeless grief to some. Again I turn to the woodlands, And shudder as I see The mock-grape?s blood-red banner Hung out on the cedar-tree; And I think of days of slaughter, And the night-sky red with flames, On the Chattahoochee?s meadows, And the wasted banks of the James. Oh, for the fresh spring-season, When the groves are in their prime, And far away in the future Is the frosty autumn-time! Oh, for that better season, When the pride of the foe shall yield, And the hosts of God and Freedom March back from the well-won field; And the matron shall clasp her first-born With tears of joy and pride; And the scarred and war-worn lover Shall claim his promised bride! The leaves are swept from the branches; But the living buds are there, With folded flower and foliage, To sprout in a kinder air.