 | Dryburgh Abbey and other poems |  |
BOYHOOD.
I
The dreams of early youth,How beautiful they are—how full of joy—
When fancy looks like truth,
And life shews not a taint of sin's alloy.
II
When every heart appearsThe temple of high thought and noble deed—
When our most bitter tears
Fall o'er some melancholy page we read.
67
III
The summer morn's fresh hours—Her thousand woodland songs—her glorious hues:
Oh! life's so full of flowers,
The difficulty then, is where to choose!
IV
The wonderful blue sky—Its cloudy palaces—its gorgeous fanes—
The rainbow tints which lie
Like distant golden seas near purple plains,—
V
These never shine again,As once they shone upon our raptured gaze:
The clouds which may remain
Paint other visions than in those sweet days!
VI
In hours thus pure—sublime—Dreams we would make realities: life seems
So changed in after-time,
That we would wish realities were dreams!
| Dryburgh Abbey and other poems | |