Departed Days
Yes, dear departed, cherished days,
Could Memoryâ'¬'¢s hand restore
Your morning light, your evening rays,
From Timeâ'¬'¢s gray urn once more,
Then might this restless heart be still,
This straining eye might close,
And Hope her fainting pinions fold,
While the fair phantoms rose.
But, like a child in oceanâ'¬'¢s arms,
We strive against the stream,
Each moment farther from the shore
Where lifeâ'¬'¢s young fountains gleam;
Each moment fainter wave the fields,
And wider rolls the sea;
The mist grows dark,â'¬'ÃÂthe sun goes down,â'¬'ÃÂ
Day breaks,â'¬'ÃÂand where are we?
