The sun, a glorious orb of burning gold Casts its radiant life-promoting light Upon the fertile landscape before me, and Long, darkling, deep'ning shadows makes. The furrows of the ploughman's toil grow dim And, as the sun follows its long, steep path To that distant horizon where earth and sky kiss, Merge into vague, indiscriminate brown tinges. Atop the hills, aglow with ruddy Abendslicht, Sunburned autumnal copses sadly reflect A hundred, hundred myriad subtle shades Of green and brown and yellow tints. The waving cornfields shake, glimmer, glisten, A million mirrors to the glorious evening glow; Warm, cascading streams shiver bright rivulets Of glass, descending the dusky hillsides. A deep red glow transfigures now the farmhouses, Their ancient thatched roofs russet-hued; Countless thousands of songbirds sing forth Their innocent chorus for the coming night. So much beauty and so much tranquillity, Should surely uplift any beholder's heart and soul. But all the transient glory of this timeless scene Cannot still the weeping of my broken heart. For I am alone, bereft of hope in a cold world And I know I shall never know a moment's joy again As I see the autumn sun sinking over the graveyard Where you, my beloved family, lie rotting in the mulch.