Autumn (The Autumn is old)
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!
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