Now the leaves are falling fast, Nurse's flowers will not last, Nurses to the graves are gone, And the prams go rolling on. Whispering neighbours left and right, Daunt us from our true delight, Able hands are forced to freeze Derelict on lonely knees. Close behind us on our track, Dead in hundreds cry Alack, Arms raised stiffly to reprove In false attitudes of love. Scrawny through a plundered wood, Trolls run scolding for their food, Owl and nightingale are dumb, And the angel will not come. Clear, unscalable, ahead Rise the Mountains of Instead, From whose cold cascading streams None may drink except in dreams.