The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing; the pale flowers are dying,
Come months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead, cold year,
The chill rain is falling; the night worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling,
The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone And the earth's a deathbed, in a shroud of leaves dead
Come months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array; Follow the bier Of the dead, cold year.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.