Oft I recall those days with feelings tender;
With smiles, and yet the tear-drops dim my sight.
Within my tender mother's arms I sported,
I played at horse upon my grandsire's knee;
Sorrow and care and anger, ill-reported,
As little known as gold or Greek, to me.
The world was little to my childish thinking,
And innocent of sin and sinful things;
I saw the stars above me flashing, winking--
To fly and catch them, how I longed for wings!