Bury me in the autumn time, when the leaves begin to fall,
And nature o’er her forest grounds extends her leafy pall;
It is a season which I loved when life was young and new,
And often o’er the landscape then I cast a tranquil view.
’Tis then the winds, with airy whirl, begin their autumn play,
And merrily over hill and dale, career their buoyant way;
The whispering trees bend down their boughs, as soft they sweep along,
And every leaf that joins the gale contributes to the song.
It is a time when ripened fruits their nut-brown stores display,
And the squirrel nimbly trips it then, his winter’s stock to lay;
The partridge, too, with feathers spread, steps on the hollow tree,
And flaps his wings, with doubling sound, to tell his mate ’tis he.
The waters murmur softly then, and, as the trees grow bare,
Display their channels through the woods, and glitter doubly fair.
All nature is mature of mood, and woodland scenes unite,
And man, and herds and flocks all join, to gratify the sight.
The harvest’s in, the fruit is ripe, the flowers are fall’n and sere,
And joy and peace and plenty crown the labors of the year:
Then put me in the ground while thus all nature’s in her fill,
I loved the season when I lived, and, dead, shall love it still.