Where shall I go in the gold of the autumn?

Oh the song of the lark and the dove

To drink up the moon rising over the water

To sing to Diana and the bright moon above

Straight is the shaft of the yew-whitened arrow

White the jeweled stars growing up at the sky

Straight is the cut that makes stars at the apple

Cut to the stregnth of Her heart where it lies

Stormy white stars in the dew of the morning

Ringed by the moon's light stillness and long

As we wonder and wait for the bright of the dawning

But the dream is made sleepless in the echo of dawn

Where shall I go in the gold of the autumn?

Oh the song of the lark and the dove

To drink up the moon rising over the water

To sing to Diana and the bright moon abve

She is the telling of innocence ending

She is the rose grown thick at the briar

Stand in the dream that the moonlight is sending

Touched to the shaft in the shade of desire

The moon is reflected in glass at the window

That covers up skin like our thoughts and ideals

But when the hearth fire is darkened and cindered

Then what but her eyes and the night sky is real?

Where shall I go in the gold of the autumn?

Oh the song of the lark and the dove

To drink up the moon rising over the water

To sing to Diana and the bright moon above

She is not fashioned in stories by fire

Where we drink of the ale and we lie of the barley

Where we fashion our words to grow wit by the telling

Where we thrill to the dark in the firelight's shadow

Where the summer is long and we think not of autumn

She is grown quick in wide-eyed desire

Her bower is the moon grown wordless and swelling

Her bower is lost in the dark of the meadow

Her bower grows gold with the gold of the autumn

Where shall I go in the gold of the autumn?

Oh the song of the lark and the dove

To drink up the moon rising over the water

To sing to Diana and the bright moon above