The ending year

Frail autumn lights on the leaves

Beacon the ending year,

Winds and rain are here,

Bleak nights are here,

Blowing winds are here,

Blowing winds about the eaves.

Here in the valley mists begin

To breathe about the riverside

The breath of Autumn-tide;

And dark fields now wait to take the harvest in.

And you, and you are far away,

Ah! this it is, Ah! this it is, Ah!

This takes the light from the day.