There are no roses in the garden now,
  The summer birds have vanished oversea,
The ashen keys hang rusty on the bough, 
  Autumn's gold ensigns flame from tree to tree. 

Music and perfume sleep, and light is fled,
  Autumn's fine gold is faery gold, we know. 
Where shall we turn for joy when flowers are dead,
  When birds are silent, and the cold winds blow? 

The summer birds have vanished oversea, 
  But Memory's palace-courts are full of song; 
There sings a nightingale for you and me,
  And there a hidden lute plays all day long. 

There are no roses in the garden now,
  But Memory's garden grows each day more fair; 
Sun, moon, and stars her orchard close endow,
  And there bloom roses -- roses everywhere.