A memory so sudden, sad and pleasant, 
Aught that recalls the days of happy yout
        Then spring in happy pain the tears that wait, 
Those subtle tears that wait on thought, and all - 
Field stream and voice - all that we hear or see -
Goes from the sense, adorned with mem’ry’s hand 
And merges slowly into dreamy ligh
        I wake; alas! by dreams l was betraye 
Tis but a semblance that l feel and hear 
Because the past, alas! cannot retur 
These fields are not the fields I knew, these sounds 
Are not the sounds I knew: all those are gone, 
And all the past - alas! cannot retur