 | The Comrades |  |
185
In the Fall
Among the bleak, wet woods I tread
On leaves of yellow and of red;
The leaves are whirled in wind and rain,
The woods are filled with sounds of pain;
No bird is left to sing.
On leaves of yellow and of red;
The leaves are whirled in wind and rain,
The woods are filled with sounds of pain;
No bird is left to sing.
Man's destiny is blowing wind,
A little leaf is all mankind;
The wind blows high, the wind blows low,
The leaflet flutters to and fro,
And dreams it is a wing.
A little leaf is all mankind;
The wind blows high, the wind blows low,
The leaflet flutters to and fro,
And dreams it is a wing.
186
Amid the blowing of the wind,
Amid the drifting of mankind,
Among the melancholy rain,
And woodlands filled with sounds of pain,
No heart is left to sing.
Amid the drifting of mankind,
Among the melancholy rain,
And woodlands filled with sounds of pain,
No heart is left to sing.
| The Comrades | |