Dead leaves from off the tree
  Make whirlpools on the ground;
Like dogs that chase their tails,
  Those leaves go round and round;
Like birds unfledged and young,
  The old bare branches cry;
Branches that shake and bend
  To feel the winds go by.

No other sound is heard,
  Save from those boughs so bare -
Hark! who sings that one song?
  'Tis Robin sings so rare.
How sweet! like those sad tunes
  In homes where grief's not known;
Or that a blind girl sings
  When she is left alone.