Ii

Hollyhocks bend all tattered and torn, Marigolds all are gone; The last pale rose lies all forlorn, Like love that is trampled on.

Weary, ah me! to-night will be, Weary and wild and hoar; Rain and mist will blow from the sea, And the wind will sob in the autumn tree, "He comes no more, no more. Weary, ah me! ah me!"