Still thirteen years: ’t is autumn now
  On field and hill, in heart and brain;
The naked trees at evening sough;
The leaf to the forsaken bough
  Sighs not,—“Auf wiedersehen!”

Two watched yon oriole’s pendent dome,
  That now is void, and dank with rain,
And one,—oh, hope more frail than foam!
The bird to his deserted home...