And only those which shine with love and happiness remain.
As one may find a violet beneath the Winter’s snow,
I go back to the kindly years—when I was Mary’s beau.
I was a chunky farmer boy—her father lord of lands.
She was a little village queen—I only had my hands.
Yet in the pure democracy of our New England town
Youth never could be quite denied—love beat the barriers down.
Yet she was wise—to reign a queen—one must keep step with wealth.
And Mary knew full well that I had nothing but my health.
To me she played a sister’s part—but settled down with Joe,