By the way of blowing roses, in the laughter-laden years, Happy lads and lightsome lasses tripped the song-sweet lanes with me; Gladness woke the hillside echoes in the sound of ringing cheers, Rapture rippled on the breezes sweeping from the rippled sea. Happy lads have left the hillside for a bourne beyond the bay, Lightsome lasses know not laughter hid beneath enduring stone; Echoes of a strangled sorrow in the sea mist far away, Haunt the lanes where song is silent and the roses all are blown.
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