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Autumn 'tis! Our garden stands
  Flowerless and bare,
Dizzy whirling yellow leaves
  Fill the wind swept air.
Yet the distant mountain ash
  In the vale below,
With our favorite berries red
  Now begins to glow.
While with rapture and with pain
  Throbbing in my breast,
Pressing hot thy hands in mine,
  Silent, unexpressed--
Fondly gazing in thine eyes,
  Through my tears I see--
That I can never tell thee
  How dear thou art to me!

© Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy