It did not look so far, and yet, and yet,

The moments were so easy to forget,

For now without your hand to guide, it seems

I seek in vain to find a way of dreams.

A moon-lit path between aspiring trees,

’Neath wind-blown leaves rustling in harmonies,

A little song that I may never sing—

But oh, the wondrous memory lingering.

And though I never may return until

I clasp your hand beyond these years, why still

There is one guide the path of life along—

A fleeting end of dream-remembered song.