When ice all melted to the sun,
And left the wavy streams to run,
We long'd, as summer came, to roll
In river foam, o'er depth and shoal.
And if we lost our loose-bow'd swing,
We had a kite to pull our string,
Or, if no ball
Would rise or fall
With us, another joy was nigh,
Before our joy all pass'd us by.

If leaves of trees, that wind stripp'd bare
At morning, fly on evening air,
We still look on for summer boughs
To shade again our sunburnt brows.
Where orchard blooms' white scales may fall
May hang the apple's blushing ball.
New hopes come on
For old ones gone,
As day on day may shine on high,
Until our joys all pass us by.

My childhood yearn'd to reach the span
Of boyhood's life, and be a man;
And then I look'd, in manhood's pride,
For manhood's sweetest choice, a bride;
And then to lovely children, come
To make my home a dearer home.
But now my mind
Can look behind
For joy; and wonder, with a sigh,
When all my joys have pass'd me by.

Was it when, once, I miss'd a call
To rise, and thenceforth seem'd to fall?
Or when my wife to my hands left
Her few bright keys, a doleful heft?
Or when before the door I stood,
To watch a child away for good?
Or where some crowd
In mirth was loud;
Or where I saw a mourner sigh?
Where did my joy all pass me by?