They must be with thee still!
Thou art unchanged—as bright the sunbeams play—
From not a tree or hill
Hath time one hue of beauty snatched away.
Unchanged alike should be
The blessed things so late resigned to thee!
Give back, oh, smiling deep!
The heart’s fair sunshine, and the dreams of youth
That in thy bosom sleep—
Life’s April innocence, and trustful truth!