 | Poems |  |
113
PAST.
I would I were at home again,
My days are running fast away,
And bring me nothing true but pain,
Though I may look so glad and gay.
My days are running fast away,
And bring me nothing true but pain,
Though I may look so glad and gay.
My friend, this world is more to thee,
Than to thy old companion here,
For I must always turn and flee,
While thou advancest without fear.
Than to thy old companion here,
For I must always turn and flee,
While thou advancest without fear.
The blue skies greet me without joy,
The earth is fearful, cold and dull,
I wish I were once more a boy,
It then all seemed so beautiful.
The earth is fearful, cold and dull,
I wish I were once more a boy,
It then all seemed so beautiful.
114
I cling to what I loved before,
I joy in what I used to do,—
I cannot learn to love you more,
But O! I long to fly to you.
I joy in what I used to do,—
I cannot learn to love you more,
But O! I long to fly to you.
Yes! I shall come and be a child
Where I was childish, and grow glad
To hear your gentle voice so mild,
And play again where I was sad.
Where I was childish, and grow glad
To hear your gentle voice so mild,
And play again where I was sad.
For I was sad in days past by,
But now am sad that they are past,
And all my joys in memory,
Are perfectly and finely glassed.
But now am sad that they are past,
And all my joys in memory,
Are perfectly and finely glassed.
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