Oh sadness of decay!
The autumn fields are grey,
⁠And long-forgotten is the hedge-row tune;
How sick the shattered fern,
How harsh the woods and stern,
⁠How pale and palsied is the afternoon

Oh gladness of decay!
The wild buds store the May,
⁠The hushed lanes listen for the blackbird’s song;
The dumb trees hoard their strength,
The shy fern peeps, at length
⁠Old Death is quickened, and the days are long.