October

Autumn’s coming o’er the hill Treading fast and faster. Soon his foot will cross the sill, Autumn’s coming o’er the hill. Where the summer lingers still, Blooms the purple aster. Autumn’s coming o’er the hill, Treading fast and faster.

Through the rustling leaves she goes, Dolladine, my dollie. Summer’s lent her cheek a rose, Through the rustling leaves she goes. Down the frosty wind there blows Autumn’s laughter jolly; Through the rustling leaves she goes, Dolladine, my dollie.