Far back upon the “fairy isle” of Youth—
And thinking of the hours of grief and pain,
Of all the bitter tears that we have shed,
That only ceased awhile, to flow again,
Above the loved, the beautiful, the dead!
Would we not close our eyes, nor dare the sight?
The many blighted hopes, the cares, the fears—
The fond eyes closed, that round us shed their light,
The clouds that hang above our coming years?
Would not a fearful shriek then pierce the sky,