Late October(Bois de Boulogne)
Listen,the damp leaves on the walks are blowingWith a ghost of sound;Is it a fog or is it a rain drippingFrom the low trees to the ground?If I had gone before, I could have rememberedLilacs and green after-noons of May;I chose to wait, I chose to hear from autumnWhatever she has to say.
Listen,the damp leaves on the walks are blowingWith a ghost of sound;Is it a fog or is it a rain drippingFrom the low trees to the ground?If I had gone before, I could have rememberedLilacs and green after-noons of May;I chose to wait, I chose to hear from autumnWhatever she has to say.
Listen,the damp leaves on the walks are blowingWith a ghost of sound;Is it a fog or is it a rain drippingFrom the low trees to the ground?
Listen,the damp leaves on the walks are blowing
With a ghost of sound;
Is it a fog or is it a rain dripping
From the low trees to the ground?
If I had gone before, I could have rememberedLilacs and green after-noons of May;I chose to wait, I chose to hear from autumnWhatever she has to say.
If I had gone before, I could have remembered
Lilacs and green after-noons of May;
I chose to wait, I chose to hear from autumn
Whatever she has to say.