Love’s Young Dream
Oh, the days are gone, when Beauty bright
My heart’s chain wove;
When my dream of life from morn till night
Was love, still love.
New hope may bloom,
And days may come
Of milder, calmer beam,
But there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As love’s young dream;
No, there’s nothing half so sweet in life
As love’s young dream.
Though the bard to purer fame may soar,
When wild youth’s past;
Though he wins the wise, who frown’d before,
To smile at last;
He’ll never meet
A joy so sweet,
In all his noon of fame,
As when first he sung to woman’s ear
His soul-felt flame,
And, at every close, she blushed to hear
The one loved name.
No—that hallowed form is ne’er forgot
Which first love traced;
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot
On memory’s waste.
’Twas odour fled
As soon as shed;
’Twas morning’s wingèd dream;
’Twas a light there ne’er can shine again
On life’s dull stream:
Oh! ’twas light that ne’er can shine again
On life’s dull stream.