Detaining the sunshine of May,

All aquiver with light they turn to the sight,

Like a flower that faces the day.

How restful the hillsides and shady!

The brook like a song passeth by,

And the trespassing moon floats about through noon,

Like a bubble blown up in the sky.

Look into the past! It is happy;

Its voices are voices of youth;

There is no idle jest to disturb the heart’s rest,

And its banners wear mottoes of truth;

Look back at the glad, happy faces

That walk with our childhood abreast,

And show me to-day, though it be miles away,

A spot that can offer such rest.

Say not that the years long escaping,

Show graves of a cankering joy.

Because we have found that new pleasures abound,

Must we cast off our first childish toy?

Because some old love has disturbed us,

And filled a lost hour full of gloom,

Are we never to go, when the sun lieth low,

And stand by the neglected tomb?