La flute amere d'Automne 
Pleure dans le soir anxieux. 
A UTUMN’S melancholy lute 
Calls so clear and calls so sweet, 
Through the forest brown and mute, 
Down the white-walled village street. 
“ Follow now, Oh follow now, 
Burns the leaf upon the bough ; 
Cross the mountains hoar and old, 
To the land of sunset gold.” 
Autumn beckons as she goes,— 
“ Follow me, Oh follow me, 
Would you ’scape the winter snows 
And the Happy Valleys see.” 
Autumn’s amber-coloured veil 
Floats along the evening breeze, 
Like a gilded galleon’s sail 
Beckoning on to splendid seas. 
Autumn’s lute sounds low and clear,— 
Autumn’s melancholy lute, 
“ Follow here, Oh follow here ! ” 
Over woods and meadows mute. 
“ Come away, Oh come away! 
Sundown calls you home from day; 
Night is near and earth grows cold; 
Follow through the sunset gold.” 
