Nine leaves a minute
  Swim down shakily;
  Each one fain would spin it
  Straight to earth; but, see,
  How the sharp airs win it
Slantwise away! Hear it say,
"Now we have finished our summer show
Of what we knew the way to do:
Alas, not much! But, as things go,
As fair as any. And night-time calls,
     And the curtain falls!"

  Sunlight goes on shining
  As if no frost were here,
  Blackbirds seem designing
  Where to build next year;
  Yet is warmth declining:
And still the day seems to say,
"Saw you how Dame Summer drest?
Of all God taught her she bethought her!
Alas, not much! And yet the best
She could, within the too short time
  Granted her prime."