I sought among the drifting leaves,
The golden leaves that once were green,
To see if Love were hiding there And peeping out between.
For thro' the silver showers of May And thro' the summer's heavy heat,
In vain I sought his golden head And light, fast-flying feet.
Perhaps when all the world is bare And cruel winter holds the land,
The Love that finds no place to hide Will run and catch my hand.
I shall not care to have him then,
I shall be bitter and a-cold — It grows too late for frolicking When all the world is old.
Then little hiding Love, come forth,
Come forth before the autumn goes,
And let us seek thro' ruined paths The garden's last red rose.
