The rippling metres flow to-day,
But other boys at sunset dream
Of love, and laurels far away;
And ah! from yonder trellised home,
Less sweet the faces are that peer
Than those of old, and voices come
Less musically to my ear.
Sigh not, ye breezy elms, but give
The murmur of my sweetheart’s vows,
When Life was something worth to live,