The loser had a task to do—these twenty years ago.
The river’s running just as still; the willows on its side
Are larger than they were, Tom; the stream appears less wide;
But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, where once we played the beau,
And swung our sweethearts—pretty girls—just twenty years ago.
The spring that bubbled ’neath the hill close by the spreading beach
Is very low—’twas then so high that we could scarcely reach;
And kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so,
To see how sadly I am changed, since twenty years ago.
Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name;