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Autumn: The Autumn is old
by [?]


The Autumn is old,
The sere leaves are flying;–
He hath gather’d up gold,
And now he is dying;–
Old Age, begin sighing!

The vintage is ripe,
The harvest is heaping;–
But some that have sow’d
Have no riches for reaping;–
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping!

The year’s in the wane,
There is nothing adorning,
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;–
Cold winter gives warning.

The rivers run chill,
The red sun is sinking,
And I am grown old,
And life is fast shrinking;
Here’s enow for sad thinking!