Classic Poem

I F the blest spirit of my childhood hours
Hath not yet ceased to pour a happy voice,
If my worn heart may dare once more rejoice,
Or memory hath preserved some faded flowers
Of life's first sweetness—I would seek the bowers
Where love once woke the song of infant joys,
And broke upon mine ear the blissful noise
Of streams and singing woods, no longer ours.
Ah! well known paths! your flowers are still the same,
Blooming in all their wilderness of grace;
The same fair sky, sweet air, and nature's face
Smiling o'er all, and birds to hymn her name.
He, he alone, is changed who wanders here;
Your calm is mockery now; farewell to scenes once dear.

I F the blest spirit of my childhood hours
Hath not yet ceased to pour a happy voice,
If my worn heart may dare once more rejoice,
Or memory hath preserved some faded flowers
Of life's first sweetness—I would seek the bowers
Where love once woke the song of infant joys,
And broke upon mine ear the blissful noise
Of streams and singing woods, no longer ours.
Ah! well known paths! your flowers are still the same,
Blooming in all their wilderness of grace;
The same fair sky, sweet air, and nature's face
Smiling o'er all, and birds to hymn her name.
He, he alone, is changed who wanders here;
Your calm is mockery now; farewell to scenes once dear.