Chanson D’Automne

Leaf-strewing gales 

Utter low wails 

Like violins,-- 

Till on my soul 

Their creeping dole 

Stealthily wins.... 

Days long gone by! 

In such hour, I, 

Choking and pale, 

Call you to mind,-- 

Then like the wind 

Weep I and wail. 

And, as by wind 

Harsh and unkind, 

Driven by grief, 

Go I, here, there, 

Recking not where, 

Like the dead leaf.