In the years long gone, whence the shadows smile
Like the morning beams on the song-swept isle,
Half hid by the cloud and the rainbow’s wing
Are the early scenes that my dreamings bring.
There’s a little child at her quiet play,
Rocking her doll in a motherly way;
Singing a song as the hours creep by,
And the blue-bells bloom as the sun mounts high.
There’s a violet wreath in her auburn hair,
And her rag doll sits in a cornstalk chair