Now the leaves are falling fast,

     Nurse's flowers will not last;

     Nurses to the graves are gone,

     And the prams go rolling on.

     Whispering neighbours, left and right,

     Pluck us from the real delight;

     And the active hands must freeze

     Lonely on the separate knees.

     Dead in hundreds at the back

     Follow wooden in our track,

     Arms raised stiffly to reprove

     In false attitudes of love.

     Starving through the leafless wood

     Trolls run scolding for their food;

     And the nightingale is dumb,

     And the angel will not come.

     Cold, impossible, ahead

     Lifts the mountain's lovely head

     Whose white waterfall could bless

     Travellers in their last distress.