Like the voice of a golden star,
Heard from afar,
Perishing beauty calls
Out of the mist and rain;
Like the song of a silver wind
When the night is blind,
Murmuring music falls,
Never to rise again.
Voice of the leaves that die,
Whisper and sigh
Of ruinous gardens waning
Rose by ungathered rose.
Dolor of pines immortal,
That guard the portal
Of a lonely mead retaining
Blossoms that no man knows!
Voices of love and the autumn sun,
In my heart ye are one!
Fairer the petals that fall,
Dearer the beauty that dies,
And the pyres of autumn burning,
Than a thousand springs returning....
O, perishing loves that call
In my heart and the hollow skies !