THE OLD DAYS

The old days — the far days —

The overdear and fair!—

The old days — the lost days —

How lovely they were!

The old days of Morning,

With the dew-drench on the flowers

And apple-buds and blossoms

Of those old days of ours.

Then was the real gold

Spendthrift Summer flung;

Then was the real song

Bird or Poet sung!

There was never censure then,—

Only honest praise —

And all things were worthy of it

In the old days.

There bide the true friends —

The first and the best;

There clings the green grass

Close where they rest:

Would they were here? No;—

Would we were there!...

The old days — the lost days —

How lovely they were!