As these;—no leaves look half so green
As cloth'd the play-ground tree!
All things I lov'd are altered so,
Nor does it ease my heart to know
That change resides in me.
O, for the garb that mark'd the boy!
The trousers made of corduroy.
Well ink'd with black and red;
The crownless hat, ne'er deem'd an ill—
It only let the sunshine still