The old days — the far days —
The overdear and fair!—
The old days — the lost days —
How lovely they were!
The old days of Morning,
With the dew-drench on the flowers
And apple-buds and blossoms
Of those old days of ours.
Then was the real gold
Spendthrift Summer flung;
Then was the real song
Bird or Poet sung!
There was never censure then,—
Only honest praise —
And all things were worthy of it
In the old days.
There bide the true friends —
The first and the best;
There clings the green grass
Close where they rest:
Would they were here? No;—
Would we were there!...
The old days — the lost days —
How lovely they were!