At an Old Drawer

Before this scarf was faded,

    What hours of mirth it knew;

How gayly it paraded

    From smiling eyes to view.

The days were tinged with glory,

    The nights too quickly sped,

And life was like a story

    Where all the people wed.

Before this rosebud wilted,

    How passionately sweet

The wild waltz smelled and lilted

    In time for flying feet;

How loud the bassoons muttered,

    The horns grew madly shrill,

And oh! the vows lips uttered

    That hearts could not fulfill.

Before this fan was broken,

    Behind its lace and pearl

What whispered words were spoken,

    What hearts were in a whirl;

What homesteads were selected

    In Fancy's realm of Spain,

What castles were erected

    Without a room for pain.

When this odd glove was mated,

    How thrilling seemed the play;

Maybe our hearts are sated—

    We tire so soon to-day.

O, thrust away these treasures,

    They speak the dreary truth;

We have outgrown the pleasures

    And keen delights of youth.