Golden Histories, etc By Wathen Mark Wilks Call |
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Childhood.
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 | Golden Histories, etc |  |
Childhood.
Ah! sweet days of my youth!
Are ye vanish'd for aye?
O Beauty! O Truth!
Did ye die in your May?
Are ye vanish'd for aye?
O Beauty! O Truth!
Did ye die in your May?
I was young, I was young,
When the clouds spake of God,
When the trees as they swung,
Seemed to nod to his nod.
When the clouds spake of God,
When the trees as they swung,
Seemed to nod to his nod.
When the summer shook balm,
From her blue glowing wings,
When the sunsets slept calm,
In their purple, like kings.
From her blue glowing wings,
When the sunsets slept calm,
In their purple, like kings.
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When the rainbow stood up,
Like a thing strangely born,
And I drank of the cup
From the red lips of morn.
Like a thing strangely born,
And I drank of the cup
From the red lips of morn.
I was young, I was young,
When I sung, in the wood,
To the birds, as they sung,
And the world seemed so good.
When I sung, in the wood,
To the birds, as they sung,
And the world seemed so good.
How I laugh'd as I sped
By the river's green marge,
How I lifted my head,
When my heart grew too large!
By the river's green marge,
How I lifted my head,
When my heart grew too large!
How the cuckoo would sing,
As she flew down the breeze,
Mid the odours of spring,
And the rustle of trees.
As she flew down the breeze,
Mid the odours of spring,
And the rustle of trees.
O! phantom-like bird,
Full of love, full of awe,
Whom the ear often heard,
But the eye never saw.
Full of love, full of awe,
Whom the ear often heard,
But the eye never saw.
Then the colours that stray'd,
On the roof, on the wall,
Turn'd the room, where I play'd,
To a magical hall.
On the roof, on the wall,
Turn'd the room, where I play'd,
To a magical hall.
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Then I slept in the grass,
Lull'd in dreams of the skies,
And sweet angels would pass,
Raining light from their eyes.
Lull'd in dreams of the skies,
And sweet angels would pass,
Raining light from their eyes.
Then I call'd, then I cried,
To these sons of the Blest,—
But they smil'd when I sigh'd,
And past on to their rest.
To these sons of the Blest,—
But they smil'd when I sigh'd,
And past on to their rest.
Ah! 't is over; but, still,
When I feel like a child,
From the lake, from the hill,
From the wood and the wild,
When I feel like a child,
From the lake, from the hill,
From the wood and the wild,
From the cloud and the bird,
From the trees and the flowers,
Come the voices I heard,
In the bright morning hours.
From the trees and the flowers,
Come the voices I heard,
In the bright morning hours.
And the birds sing again,
As in childhood they sung,
And in heart and in brain
I am young—I am young.
As in childhood they sung,
And in heart and in brain
I am young—I am young.
| Golden Histories, etc | |