For clarity:

  The autumn wind moves slow across the field,
  and every falling leaf now yields its fight.
  The summer gold at last has ceased to yield,
  and short days now give way to longer night.
  I walk alone beside a calm and quiet stream,
  and watch it slowly carry every fallen leaf.
  I think of you as some half-forgotten dream,
  and taste again that same old, bitter grief.
  The silent stars come out to watch it still,
  and pale moonlight falls gently on the hill.
  A lonesome owl calls out from past the mill,
  and time moves on, unhurried and calm, until
  the dawn returns to paint the sky brand new,
  and I still recall the love I lost with you.