The songs of summer are over and past!
    The swallow's forsaken the dripping eaves;
    Ruined and black 'mid the sodden leaves
The nests are rudely swung in the blast:
    And ever the wind like a soul in pain
    Knocks and knocks at the window-pane.

The songs of summer are over and past!
    Woe's me for a music sweeter than theirs--
    The quick, light bound of a step on the stairs,
The greeting of lovers too sweet to last:
    And ever the wind like a soul in pain
    Knocks and knocks at the window-pane.