The Fair Gray Lady Poem by Helen Gray Cone

When the charm at last is fled
From the woodland stark and pale,
And like shades of glad hours dead
Whirl the leaves before the gale:

When against the western fire
Darkens many an empty nest,
Like a thwarted heart's desire
That in prime was hardly guessed:

Then the fair gray Lady leans,
Lingering, o'er the faded grass,
Still the soul of all the scenes
Once she graced, a golden lass.

O'er the Year's discrownèd sleep,
Dear as in her earlier day,
She her bending watch doth keep,
She the Goldenrod grown gray.