Rain will fall on the fading flowers,
    Winds will blow through the dripping tree,
    When Fall leads in her tattered Hours
    With Death to keep them company.
    All night long in the weeping weather,
    All night long in the garden grey,
    A ghost and a dream will talk together
    And sad are the things they will have to say:
    Old sad things of the bough that’s broken;
    Heartbreak things of the leaf that’s dead;
    Old sad things no tongue hath spoken;
    Sorrowful things no man hath said