E. Nesbit - Dead Leaves lyrics

Not Summer's crown of scent the red rose weaves, Not hawthorn perfume blown o'er bloom-strewn gra**, Not violets' whispers as the children pa**, Nor new-mown hay, crisp scent of yellow sheaves, Nor lilac perfume in the soft May eves, Nor any scent that Springtime can ama**, Or Summer squander, such a magic has As scent of fresh wet earth and fallen leaves. For sometimes lovers, in November days, When earth is grieving for the vanished sun, Have trod dead leaves in chill and wintry ways, And kissed and dreamed eternal summer won. Look back, look back! through memory's deepening haze, See--two who dreamed that dream, and you were one!