"Come little leaves," said the wind on day
"Come o'er the meadow with me and play,
Put on your dresses of red and gold,
Summer is gone and the days grow cold"

As soon as the leaves heard the wind's low call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all
Over the brown fields they whirled and flew,
Singing the soft little songs they knew

Dancing and whirling the little leaves went,
Autumn had called them and they were content
Soon they will sleep in their soft earthly beds
Waiting for winter to cover their heads

No spring or summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face…

No spring or summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face…

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