Tell me love of thy early dreams,
How they flitted away!
How they glow’d with the morning beams,
Fading with the day?
Oh! speak of thy childhood’s years,
Pleasures now flown,
All thy innocent smiles and tears,
Where, where have they gone?
Know’st thou not that the fondest hopes
Beam then wither away?
Know’st thou not that the fairest flowers,
Bloom but to decay?
Why, why have hope’s brightest beams?
Faded at last;
Where oh where are thy early dreams?
Gone, gone with the past.