The Autumn is old; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gather'd up gold, And now he is dying;- Old age, begin sighing!
How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled!
I saw old autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like silence, listening To silence.
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds - November!