Like a joy on the heart of a sorrow, the sunset hangs on a cloud;
A golden storm of glittering sheaves, of fair and frail and fluttering leaves,
The wild wind blows in a cloud.
Hark to a voice that is calling, to my heart in the voice of the wind:
My heart is weary and sad and alone, for its dreams like the fluttering leaves have gone,
and why should I stay behind?
Autumn Song by Sarojini Naidu