Poetry Archives

When I was young—long, long ago—
I dreamed myself among the flowers;
And fancy drew the picture so,
They seemed like Fairies in their bowers.

The rose was still a rose, you know—
  But yet a maid. What could I do?
You surely would not have me go,
  When rosy maidens seem to woo?

My heart was gay, and ’mid the throng
  I sported for an hour or two;
We danced the flowery paths along,
  And did as youthful lovers do.

But sports must cease, and so I dreamed
  To part with these, my fairy flowers—
But oh, how very hard it seemed
  To say good-by ’mid such sweet bowers!

And one fair Maid of modest air
  Gazed on me with her eye of blue;
I saw the tear-drop gathering there—
  How could I say to her, Adieu!

I fondly gave my hand and heart,
  And we were wed. Bright hour of youth!
How little did I think to part
  With my sweet bride, whose name was Truth!

But time passed on, and Truth grew gray,
  And chided, though with gentlest art:
I loved her, though I went astray,
  And almost broke her faithful heart.

And then I left her, and in tears—
  These could not move my hardened breast!
I wandered, and for weary years
  I sought for bliss, but found no rest.

I sought—yet ever sought in vain—
  To find the peace, the joy of youth:
At last, I turned me back again,
  And found them with my faithful Truth.