Was ever so sweet the clover,

Was ever so clear the brook,

As my child-days, over and over,

Found fresh in the dear home-nook?

Was ever such grace of motion,

Or ever such trills of song.

As the birds in mid-air ocean,

Poured childhood's plays among?

Were ever so bright the noondays,

Were ever the skies so blue,

Or so soft the slanting moon-rays,

As stole my childhood through?

Was ever so dear a mother,

Or a child so sweet, I pray,

As my blue-eyed baby-brother,

In the time so far away?

Was ever so true boy-lover,--

O, ever such pictures bright,

As my child-days, over and over,

Reflect by memory's light!