Fair is the world, now autumn’s wearing
And the sluggard sun lies long abed;
Sweet are the days, now winter’s nearing
And all winds feign that the wind is dead

Dumb is the hedge where the crabs hang yellow
Bright as the blossoms of the spring;
Dumb is the close where the pears grow mellow
And none but the dauntless redbreasts sing

Fair was the spring, but amidst his greening
Grey were the days of the hidden sun;
Fair was the summer, but overweening
So soon his o’er-sweet days were done

Come then, love, for peace is upon us
Far off is failing, and far is fear
Here where the rest in the end hath won us
In the garnering tide of the happy year

Come from the grey old house by the water
Where, far from the lips of the hungry sea
Green groweth the grass o’er the field of the slaughter
And all is a tale for thee and me