Classic Poem

You thought it was a falling leaf we heard;
I knew it was the summer's gypsy feet;
A sound so reticent it scarcely stirred
The ear so still a message to repeat, —
" I go, and lo, I make my going sweet, "
What wonder you should miss so soft a word?
You thought it was a falling leaf we heard;
I knew it was the Summer's gypsy feet.
With slender torches for her service meet
The golden-rod is coming; softer slurred
Midsummer noises take a note replete
With hint of change; who told the mocking bird?
I knew it was the Summer's gypsy feet —
You thought it was a falling leaf we heard.