THE songs of summer are over and past! The swallow's forsaken the dripping eaves; Ruined and black 'mid the sodden leaves The nests are rudely swung in the blast: And ever the wind like a soul in pain Knocks and knock at the window-pane. The songs of summer are over and past! Woe's me for a music sweeter than theirs -- The quick, light bound of a step on the stairs, The greeting of lovers too sweet to last: And ever the wind like a soul in pain Knocks and knocks at the window-pane. |