As a lad I never had any idea of the taste of sorrow,
But loved to go up the tallest towers.
Loved to go up the tallest towers,
To compose new verses simulating sorrow.

Now that of sorrow I have tasted my fill,
I hesitate on the verge of utterance.
I hesitate on the verge of utterance,
And would rather say,
What a nice cool autumn, with tints lovely and mellow!