Nine leaves a minute
Swim down shakily;
Each one fain would spin it
Straight to earth; but, see
How the sharp airs win it
Slantwise away! Hear it say
"Now we have finished our summer show
Of what we knew the way to do:
Alas, not much! But, as things go
As fair as any. And night-time calls
And the curtain falls!"

Sunlight goes on shining
As if no frost were here
Blackbirds seem designing
Where to build next year;
Yet is warmth declining:
And still the day seems to say
"Saw you how Dame Summer drest?
Of all God taught her she bethought her!
Alas, not much! And yet the best
She could, within the too short time
Granted her prime."