Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.

In heaven above, And earth below, they best can serve true gladness Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

Sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart.

And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.

One impulse from a vernal wood May teach you more of man, Of moral evil and of good, Than all the sages can.

And mighty poets in their misery dead.

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.