Youth’s dreams are good, yet that which lives on life’s hard road is best,
And so you grant me my romance—perhaps I do not know,
You, too, are thinking of the days when you were Henry’s beau.
And so I sit beside the fire when night pulls down the blind,
And wander back to youth once more with all my cares behind.
The winds of trouble rage outside, we care not how they blow,
Back in those golden days of youth—when I was Mary’s beau.”
Transcriber’s Notes.
1. Silently corrected simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors.