Ah ! never another dream can be
Like that early dream of ours,
When Hope, like a child, lay down to sleep
Amid the folded flowers.

But Hope has wakened since, and wept
Itself, like a rainbow, away;
And the flowers have faded, and fallen around,
We have none for a wreath to-day.

Now, Truth has taken the place of Hope,
And our hearts are like winter hours;
Little has after life been worth
That early dream of ours.