When Through The Bright October Leaves
When through the bright October leaves,
the west wind trails a misty rain,
a tapestry the woodland weaves,
and jewel lamps are lit again.
A gentle, lacy snow may fall,
and patter on your windowpane,
love may still warm you like a shawl,
for what you pine you may yet gain.
Leaves of gold, of silver grey,
of yellow, bronze and copper red,
on straining branches fret and stray,
you need not grieve, though summer’s fled.
Now Robin Hood he loved a maid,
more fair than words from poet’s pen,
he met her in a woodland glade,
and led her to his robber’s den.