Robert S. Coffin (1797–1827)

LOVE, the leaves are falling round thee;

All the forest trees are bare;

Winter’s snow will soon surround thee,

Soon will frost thy raven hair:

Then say, with me,

Love, wilt thou flee,

Nor wait to hear sad autumn’s prayer?

For winter rude

Will soon intrude,

Nor aught of summer’s blushing beauties spare.

Love, the rose lies withering by thee,

And the lily blooms no more;

Nature’s charms will quickly fly thee,

Chilling rains around thee pour:

Oh, then with me,

Love, wilt thou flee,

Ere whirling tempests round thee roar,

And winter dread

Shall frost thy head,

And all thy raven ringlets silver o’er?

Love, the moon is shining for thee;

All the lamps of heaven are bright;

Holy spirits glide before thee,

Urging on thy tardy flight;

Then say, with me,

Love, wilt thou flee,

Nor wait the sun’s returning light?

Time’s finger rude,

Will soon intrude

Relentless, all thy blushing beauties blight.

Love, the flowers no longer greet thee,

All their lovely hues are fled!

No more the violet springs to meet thee,

Lifting slow its modest head:

Then say, with me,

Love, wilt thou flee,

And leave this darkling desert dread?

And seek a clime

Of joy sublime,

Where fadeless flowers a lasting fragrance shed?