O mother dear, if all might be again,
Only from last October, you and me;
O mother dear, how different it would be.
We were so happy in the room together,
Singing at "Binger-Bopper," weren't us, just?
And going a-hopping in the summer weather,
And all the hedges covered white with dust,
And blackberries, and that, and traveller's trust.
I thought her wronged, and true, and sweet, and wise,
The devil takes sweet shapes when he tells lies.