LATE autumnal mists all-dripping Spread o'er hill and valley fair; Storms the trees of leaves are stripping, And they ghostly look, and bare. But one single sad tree only Silent and unstripp'd is seen; Moist with tears of woe, and lonely, Shaketh he his head still green. Ah! this waste my heart displayeth, And the tree, still full of life, Summer-green, thy form portrayeth, Much beloved and beauteous wife! |