“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
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.”