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( Originally Published 1868 )


How many years are fled !
How many friends are dead !
Alas ! how fast
The past bath passed !
How speedily life hath sped !

Places that knew me of yore
Know me for theirs no more;
And sore at the change,
Quite strange I range
Where I was at home before.

Thoughts and things, each day,
Seem to be fading away;
Yet this is, I wot,
Their ot to be not
Continuing in one stay.

A mingled mesh it seems
Of facts and fancy's gleams ;
I scarce have power, From hour to hour,
To separate things from dreams.

Darkly, as in a glass,
Like a vain shadow they pass ;
Their ways they wend.
And tend to an endó
The goal of life, alas !

Alas ! and wherefore so ?
Be glad for this passing show;
The world and its lust
Back must to their dust,
Before the soul can grow.

Expand, my willing mind,
Thy nobler life to find ;
Thy childhood leave ;
Nor grieve to bereave
Thine age of toys behind.

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