Autumn Waltz- George Bacovia

At windows, autumn plays a funeral march

In monotone, a waltz of mourning ... - Come,

Let's waltz, my darling, through the drawing-room
To the tune of autumn's mortuary dirge.

Listen, as the music clearly sounds
Across the stately, antique, solemn park,
From sorrow-laden wooden instruments
At windows, autumn plays a funeral march.

Now as the waltz sighs, softly whispering,
O let me clasp you to me now ... - And come,
                                   Let's waltz, my darling, shrieking as we turn
                                   To the tune of autumn's mortuary dirge.