'Tis the time of the year's sundown, and flame br Hangs on the maple bough; br And June is the faded flower of a name; br The thin hedge hides not a singer now. br Yet rich am I; for my treasures be br The gold afloat in my willow-tree. br br Sweet morn on the hillside dripping with dew, br Girded with blue and pearl, br Counts the leaves afloat in the streamlet too; br As the love-lorn heart of a wistful girl, br She sings while her soul brooding tearfully br Sees a dream of gold in the willow-tree. br br All day pure white and saffron at eve, br Clouds awaiting the sun br Turn them at length to ghosts that leave br When the moon's white path is slowly run br Till the morning comes, and with joy for me br O'er my gold agleam in the willow-tree. br br The lilacs that blew on the breast of May br Are an old and lost delight; br And the rose lies ruined in his careless way br As the wind turns the poplars underwhite, br Yet richer am I for the autumn; see br All my misty gold in the willow-tree.