But this is not my little bed;That time is far away;With strangers now I live instead,From dreary day to day.

Autumn's the mellow time.

Autumn's the mellow time.

And in a chair well-knownMy mother sat, and did not tireWith reading all alone.If I should make the slightest soundTo show that I'm awake,She'd rise, and lap the blankets round,My pillow softly shake;Kiss me, and turn my face to seeThe shadows on the wall,And then sing Rousseau's Dream to me,Till fast asleep I fall.

Oh, bring again my heart's content,Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!

I do not live so far from Miami.