Violets in the Springtide gathered,
To the child-heart prest,
Treasured in the breast
With a tender wistful joy,
In their fading, fragrant yet:—
A tearful sweet regret
Of the early time.

II.

Glowing, wayward crimson roses,
Shedding perfume rare
O’er the summer air,
With a canker at the heart
And a stem where thorns are set:—
O bitter-sweet regret
Of the golden prime!

III.

Snowflakes falling through the darkness,
Hiding out of sight
Graves of past delight,
Till the folded whiteness mocks
Watching faces, wan and wet:—
O mournful-sweet regret
Of the wintry time.