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.