Although, these Autumn eves,
So wistfully,
Between the trees, all down the paths
Fall the listless yellow leaves
Between the trees and down the paths,
Although while Autumn grieves,
The night-wind reaps a harvest pale,
So wistfully,
Where the late-blown roses fail
Loosing petals wan in showers--
Ah, let no petal from our love
Fall and wither with the flowers.
But let us both lean close above
The smouldering hearth of memory--
But let us tend and feed the glowing coals
And reach our hands and warm our souls
Against the winter-cold and misery,
Against the hour that tolls the death of all desire,
Against our very selves, our stricken passion--
Oh, lean with me above the blessed fire
That Memory's hands have kindled in compassion.
And if the skies be drowned
While passionate Autumn roams the world and rakes
The woods and the wild lakes,
No echo of the madness shall be found
In that safe garden, inmost and supreme,
here in the breathing stillness sound
The quiet footfalls of our Dream.