When I was young — long, long ago —
I dreamed myself among the flowers;
And fancy drew the picture so,
They seemed like Fairies in their bowers.
The rose was still a rose, you know —
But yet a maid. What could I do?
You surely would not have me go,
When rosy maidens seem to woo?
My heart was gay, and‘ mid the throng
I sported for an hour or two;
We danced the flowery paths along,
And did as youthful lovers do.
But sports must cease, and so I dreamed
To part with these, my fairy flowers —
But oh, how very hard it seemed
To say good-by‘ mid such sweet bowers!
And one fair Maid of modest air
Gazed on me with her eye of blue;
I saw the tear-drop gathering there —
How could I say to her, Adieu!
I fondly gave my hand and heart,
And we were wed. Bright hour of youth!
How little did I think to part
With my sweet bride, whose name was Truth!
But time passed on, and Truth grew gray,
And chided, though with gentlest art:
I loved her, though I went astray,
And almost broke her faithful heart.
And then I left her, and in tears —
These could not move my hardened breast!
I wandered, and for weary years
I sought for bliss, but found no rest.
I sought — yet ever sought in vain —
To find the peace, the joy of youth:
At last, I turned me back again,
And found them with my faithful Truth.