The summer grows old.
Soon gray skies will take hold
to pale the blue of day.
Long dusky arms spun of autumn gold
will carry the rose buds away.
Yet the brisk winds
will never take their toil
in this heart
or blight the flower of love
borne in my soul.
Come the scarlet autumn
with its hale touch
to frost the day,
the summer love
that blossomed between us
will never stray.