Autumn Is Over The Long Leaves That Love Us, And Over The Mice In The Barley Sheaves; Yellow The Leaves Of The Rowan Above Us, And Yellow The Wet Wild-Strawberry Leaves. The Hour Of The Waning Of Love Has Beset Us, And Weary And Worn Are Our Sad Souls Now; Let Us Patt, Ere The Season Of Passion Forget Us, With A Kiss And A Tear On Thy Drooping Brow.