And shadows o’er the grasses run.
We see the flash of merry eyes;
We see the gleam of old-time smiles;
And, ere the old-time music dies.
We live again the old-time whiles.
We walk the pathway in the lane.
And day-dream as we used to then,
For on the rippling old refrain
The old times come to life again.
Play, old hand-organ, in the street!