And tasted of some bitter springs;
And many leaves, once fair and gay,
From youth’s full flower have dropp’d away.
But as these looser leaves depart,
The lessen’d flower gets near the core,
And when deserted quite, the heart
Takes closer what was dear of yore;
And yearns to those who loved it first,
The sunshine and the dew by which its head was nurst.
Dear mother! dost thou love me yet?