I wonder if the skies would be so blue,
Or grass so kindly green as 'twas of old,
Or would there be such freshness in the dew
When purple mornings blossom into gold:
I wonder would the sudden song of birds,
Thrilling the storm-hushed forest dripping wet
After a June shower, be as idle words,
Should we forget.

I wonder if we'd feel the charm of night
Divinely lonesome with the changing moons;
Or could we prize the intermittent light
Burning the zenith with its transient noons.
I wonder if the twilight could avail
To charm us, as of old when suns had set,
If all these many dream-sweet days should fail —
And we forget.