From all around the mourners came
The day that Summer died,
From hill and valley, field and wood
And lane and mountainside.
They did not come in funeral black
But every mourner chose
Gorgeous colours or soft shades
Of russet, yellow, rose.
Horse chestnut, oak and sycamore
Wore robes of gold and red;
The rowan sported scarlet beads;
No bitter tears were shed.
Although at dusk the mourners heard,
As a small wind softly sighed,
A touch of sadness in the air
The day that Summer died.