The birds that sing on autumn eves 
Among the golden-tinted leaves, 
Are but the few that true remain 
Of budding May's rejoicing train. 
Like autumn flowers that brave the frost, 
And make their show when hope is lost, 
These 'mong the fruits and mellow scent 
Mourn not the high-sunned summer spent. 
Their notes thro' all the jocund spring 
Were mixed in merry musicking: 
They sang for love the whole day long, 
But now their love is all for song. 
Now each hath perfected his lay 
To praise the year that hastes away: 
They sit on boughs apart, and vie 
In single songs and rich reply: 
And oft as in the copse I hear 
These anthems of the dying year, 
The passions, once her peace that stole, 
With flattering love my heart console.