with gentle flakes of summer's snow
a drowsy path does pinkly grow
A drowsy path i think i know
through dale and copse it lightly flows
littered slightly from stems and boughs
with the downy flakes of summer's snow

from off its blade i hear a crow
whose throat is telling through the boughs
and twilight's swelling deeply grows
and over mountain tops it flows
To fill the path with fading glow
this drowsy path i think i know