Have wrought the work of years,
And our smiles have fled, and our eyes grown dim
With burning bitter tears.
We are changed—for our hearts no longer now
Can echo the songs of mirth,
And the sunbeams are few, and the shadows dark,
That seem to encircle the earth.
The step has grown slow that was buoyant and light,
When erst the green forest we ranged;
Our fair dreams have fled, and hope’s bright star is gone—