  Oh, the days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove; When my dream of life from morn till night Was love, still love. New hope may bloom, And days may come Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream; No, there's nothing half so sweet in life As love's young dream. Though the bard to purer fame may soar, When wild youth's past; Though he wins the wise, who frown'd before, To smile at last; He'll never meet A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame, As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame, And, at every close, she blushed to hear The one loved name. No—that hallowed form is ne'er forgot Which first love traced; Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On memory's waste. 'Twas odour fled As soon as shed; 'Twas morning's wingÈd dream; 'Twas a light there ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream: Oh! 'twas light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream. |
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