Dost thou remember that Autumnal day
When by the Seekonk's lonely wave we stood,
And marked the languor of repose that lay,
Softer than sleep, on valley, wave, and wood?

A trance of holy sadness seemed to lull
The charmed earth and circumambient air,
And the low murmur of the leaves seemed full
Of a resigned and passionless despair.

Though the warm breath of summer lingered still
In the lone paths where late her footsteps passed,
The pallid star-flowers on the purple hill
Sighed dreamily, " We are the last! the last! "

I stood beside thee, and a dream of heaven
Around me like a golden halo fell!
Then the bright veil of fantasy was riven,
And my lips murmured, " Fare thee well! — farewell! "

I dared not listen to thy words, nor turn
To meet the mystic language of thine eyes,
I only felt their power, and in the urn
Of memory, treasured their sweet rhapsodies.

We parted then, forever, — and the hours
Of that bright day were gathered to the past, —
But, through long wintry nights, I heard the flowers
Sigh dreamily, " We are the last! — the last! "