Sweet Summer Queen, With Trailing Robe Of Green, What Spell Has Thou To Bind The Heart To Thee? Thy Throne Is Built Upon The Sun-Lit Sea, Where Break The Waves In Clouds Of Silver Sheen And Oft At Dawn Like Some Resplendent Queen, Thou Sittest On The Hills In Majesty; And All The Flowers Wake At Thy Decree. But Now Farewell To All Thy Joys Serene; The Autumn Comes With Swift-Winged, Silent Flight, And He Will Woo Thee With His Fiery Breath; In Crimson Robes And Hues Of Flashing Gold He'll Clothe Thee, And Thy Beauty In The Night Will Take A Richer Glow. But Wintry Death Will Come And Wrap Thee In His Fold.