THE DEAD SUMMER.
In the forest, in the autumn,’Neath the oaks, and ’neath the beeches,Are the dead and dying childrenOf the mother trees.And the trees are sighing, moaning,And the clouds are weeping, weepingTears of sorrow for the summerThat is dead, and gone.E’en the sun his face has hiddenBy a veil of clouds and shadows,All the earth seems grieved and troubledAt the summer’s death.But the earth has a new carpet,Gorgeous with its brilliant colors.For the autumn leaves have coveredAnd hid the sodden ground.
In the forest, in the autumn,’Neath the oaks, and ’neath the beeches,Are the dead and dying childrenOf the mother trees.And the trees are sighing, moaning,And the clouds are weeping, weepingTears of sorrow for the summerThat is dead, and gone.E’en the sun his face has hiddenBy a veil of clouds and shadows,All the earth seems grieved and troubledAt the summer’s death.But the earth has a new carpet,Gorgeous with its brilliant colors.For the autumn leaves have coveredAnd hid the sodden ground.