English poem
WORDS FOR MUSIC.
by Rennell Rodd (1858–1941)
The autumn wind goes sighing Through the quivering aspen tree, The swallows will be flying Toward their summer sea; The grapes begin to sweeten On the trellised vine above, And on my brows have beaten The little wings of love. Oh wind if you should meet her You will whisper all I sing! Oh swallow fly to greet her, And bring me word in spring!