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! for dark mists the mountain-tops are shading,

And town and village welcome wanderers home;

Where play'd the zephyr air—the north winds roam;

Where songs of joy were heard, is peace pervading—

Still is the stream—the storks are now parading

Our borders,—with the sun prepar'd to go:

The flowers that on the Danube's borders grow

Are borne away—the yellow vine leaf fading.

But sight and scene shall not be clouded long—

Earth shall throw off its mourning robes again,

And May shall come with extacy and song;

But not to me—ah not for me—in vain

The seasons change: no renovating spring

Shall to my autumn light and verdure bring.