Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods And day by day the dead leaves fall and melt. - William Allingham

Out of the city, far away
With spring to-day!
Where copses tufted with primrose
Give me repose,
Wood-sorrel and wild violet
Soothe my soul's fret.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men.

No funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone, corpse-gazing, tears, black raiment, graveyard grimness. Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness, yours still, you mine. Remember all the best of our past moments, and forget the rest; and so to where I wait, come gently on.