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| THE SKIES are low, the winds are slow, | |
| The woods are filled with autumn glory; | |
| The mists are still on field and hill, | |
| The brooklet sings its dreamy story. | |
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| I careless rove through glen and grove; | 5 |
| I dream by hill and copse and river; | |
| Or in the shade by aspen made | |
| I watch the restless shadows quiver. | |
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| I lift my eyes to azure skies | |
| That shed their tinted glory o’er me; | 10 |
| While memories sweet around me fleet, | |
| As radiant as the scene before me. | |
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| For while I muse upon the hues | |
| Of autumn skies in splendor given, | |
| Sweet thoughts arise of rare deep eyes | 15 |
| Whose blue is like the blue of heaven. | |
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| Bend low, fair skies! Smile sweet, fair eyes! | |
| From radiant skies rich hues are streaming; | |
| But in the blue of pure eyes true | |
| The radiance of my life is beaming. | 20 |
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| O skies of blue! ye fade from view; | |
| Faint grow the hues that o’er me quiver; | |
| But the sure light of sweet eyes bright | |
| Shines on forever and forever. | |
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