BOYHOOD AND MANHOOD.
Oh, for the merry, merry month of June,
When I was a little lad!
When the small birds’ throats were all in tune,
And the very fields were glad.
And the flowers that alas! were to fade too soon,
In their holiday clothes were clad.
Oh, I remember—remember well,
The scent of the morning grass,
Nor was there a sight, sweet sound, or sweet smell,