Oh, it's fall in Massachusetts,

And the fields are turning brown.

There the leaves are brown and crimson

And the brooks go singing down.

There the hay ricks come from meadows

With their fragrant-smelling load,

And the smoke curls up from chimneys

Of the farms along the road.

There the elm trees make an archway

Over the streets in the little towns,

And the footpath. have a carpet

Now that leaves are coming down.

And the birds are flying southward

Through dreamy, hazy, dry

Oh, It' s fall in Massachusetts,

And I am far away!