A dream of the past, a fantasy,
—A laughing, black-eyed roguish girl
Whirling a writhing paring curl;
Chanting the words of the old mock spell
That all we children knew so well:
“Three times round and down you go!
Now who is the one that loves me so?”
Merely a fancy, a passing gleam
Of the old, old days;—a sudden dream
Beguiled by some prank of a blurring eye