The dying leaves are drifting to and fro1
Upon the fitful winds; the seas run high,2
And, on the wet and glist’ning shore below,3
Their crested waves are breaking angrily.4
Across the sands, in reckless dance and mad,5
The scattered leaves of yellow gorse are whirled,6
Now here, now there, until, far o’er the sad7
Gray waves, from human sight, at last they’re hurled.8
Out o’er the surf, with eerie, startled cries,9
The seagulls take their lonely, wheeling flight.10
Slow sinks the sun in stormy, purpled skies,11
In golden splendour of tempestuous light,12
And the dark shadow of its sombre wings,13
The autumn night, o’er land and ocean flings.14