The Merry Wind

The merry wind came racing

Adown the hills one day,

In gleeful frolic chasing

The rustling leaves away.

In clouds of red and yellow,

He whirled the leaves along,

And then the jolly fellow

He sang a cheery song.

The merry wind was weary

At last of fun and play;

His voice grew faint and eerie,

And softly died away.

Far off a crow was calling

And in the mellow sun

The painted leaves kept falling

And fading, one by one.