“When
an early Autumn walks the land
And
chills the breeze
And
touches with her hand
The
Summer trees,
Perhaps
you'll understand
What
memories I own.
There's a dance pavilion in the rain
All
shuttered down,
A
winding country lane all russet brown,
A
frosty window pane shows me a town grown lonely.
That
spring of ours that started
So
April-hearted
Seemed
made for just a boy and girl.
I
never dreamed, did you,
Any
Fall would come in view so early, early.
Darling,
if you care,
Please,
let me know,
I'll
meet you anywhere,
I
miss you so.
Let's
never have to share
another
early Autumn.”
Three
of the four seasons are named, capitalized into allegory, but the song, as is customary
for the great “American Songbook” lyricists, is one individual speaking directly
to another (not to a generation or the whole damned world). This lends the words a charged sense of intimacy. The “dance pavilion
in the rain” reminds me of something in Cheever. The song’s one false note is “a
town grown lonely” – too explicit and tritely forced – but Mercer recovers
nicely with his subsequent rhyme -- “started” / “April-hearted” – and with the
sad beseeching of “so early, early.” The conclusion is unpromising but not
hopeless. Gene Lees writes in Portrait of
Johnny: The Life of John Herndon Mercer (Pantheon Books, 2004):
“The
song is unique among literary forms, and by far the most exacting. It has the
function of retarding emotional time, so that the listener can experience the
feelings it is attempting to convey with an intensity comparable to the effect
of watching the wings of a hummingbird in slow-motion cinematography. This is
one reason a song can move you to tears.”
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