A song I learned from a CD by Martin Wyndham Read. I guess it's public domain.

The hills are clad in purple, and the trees are clad in gold.
The autumn wind is sighing for a beauty growing old.
The grey grouse in the heather and the wild deer in the glen
are longing for the summer, when they'll see their joy again.

The merry, laughing summer, with its mantle cloak of green,
the trees and all the flowers, such a beauty to be seen!
But autumn, gentle autumn, with its quiet eyes of grey,
enwrapped me in the twilight and stole my joys away.