Down the wide, open road, The pilgrim travels on His face towards the sun Beyond the open road he travels on And the waves steal the footprints Of the summer from the sand Beneath the silver moon The north wind blows the falling leaves again Around and around All has nearly turned full circle The warm lazy days of sunshine And brown rivers Winding through the meadows Are a tale of yesterday The pilgrim sighs And draws his mantle close About him in the smoky evening He watches the leaves wither and fall Frost has rimmed the pools with ice And hung diamonds In the spider's web For this is the turning of the year The final scene before the curtain falls And now beside the road there stands The pilgrim of the year to be Falling leaves turn to gold Silver flowers on my window Spirit of the fading year, He knows not where He cannot say