Now Autumn's Fire Burns Slowly Along The

Oh, Bring Again My Heart's Content, Thou Spirit Of The Summer-time!

Before A Day Was Over, Home Comes The Rover, For Mother's Kiss - Sweeter This Than Any Other Thing!

Sin We Have Explain'd Away; Unluckily, The Sinners Stay.

The Mother's Kiss Is The Sweetest Thing Ever.

The Trees Are Indian Princes, But Soon They'll Turn To Ghosts; The Scanty Pears And Apples Hang Russet On The Bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn Late, 'twill Soon Be Winter Now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin Dear! And What Will This Poor Robin Do? For Pinching Days Are Near.