I sought among the drifting leaves,The golden leaves that once were green, To see if Love were hiding thereAnd peeping out between.

    For thro' the silver showers of MayAnd thro' the summer's heavy heat, In vain I sought his golden headAnd light, fast-flying feet.

    Perhaps when all the world is bareAnd cruel winter holds the land, The Love that finds no place to hideWill run and catch my hand.

    I shall not care to have him then,I shall be bitter and a-cold —— It grows too late for frolickingWhen all the world is old.

    Then little hiding Love, come forth¹,Come forth before the autumn goes, And let us seek thro' ruined pathsThe garden's last red rose.