When my young path was strewn with flowers,
And every throb was of delight.
When joys were of each moment’s birth,
Nor care, nor doubt, an instant stole
From days of ever-changeful mirth,
That changeless shone upon the soul.
When hopes, that in mist-distance gleaming,
In promise e’en outvied the past,
Came ever, halcyon heralds seeming,
Of peace and bliss for aye to last.