Helen Gray Cone

The Fair Gray Lady

  When the charm at last is fled
    From the woodland stark and pale,
  And like shades of glad hours dead
    Whirl the leaves before the gale:

  When against the western fire
    Darkens many an empty nest,
  Like a thwarted heart's desire
    That in prime was hardly guessed:

  Then the fair gray Lady leans,
    Lingering, o'er the faded grass,
  Still the soul of all the scenes
    Once she graced, a golden lass.

  O'er the Year's discrownèd sleep,
    Dear as in her earlier day,
  She her bending watch doth keep,
    She the Goldenrod grown gray.