When you and I were young, the woods
    Brimmed bravely o’er with every joy
    To charm the happy-hearted boy. 
  The quail turned out her timid broods;
    The prickly copse, a hostess fine,
    Held high black cups of harmless wine;
      And low the laden grape-vine swung
  With beads of night-kissed amethyst
  Where buzzing lovers held their tryst,
    When you and I were young, my boy,
      When you and I were young.

  When you and I were young, the cool
    And fresh wind fanned our fevered brows
    When tumbling o’er the scented mows,
  Or stripping by the dimpling pool,
    Sedge-fringed about its shimmering face,
    Save where we ’d worn an ent’ring place. 
      How with our shouts the calm banks rung! 
  How flashed the spray as we plunged in,—­
  Pure gems that never caused a sin! 
    When you and I were young, my boy,
      When you and I were young.

  When you and I were young, we heard
    All sounds of Nature with delight,—­
    The whirr of wing in sudden flight,
  The chirping of the baby-bird. 
    The columbine’s red bells were rung;
    The locust’s vested chorus sung;
      While every wind his zithern strung
  To high and holy-sounding keys,
  And played sonatas in the trees—­
    When you and I were young, my boy,
      When you and I were young.

  When you and I were young, we knew
    To shout and laugh, to work and play,
    And night was partner to the day
  In all our joys.  So swift time flew
    On silent wings that, ere we wist,
    The fleeting years had fled unmissed;
      And from our hearts this cry was wrung—­
  To fill with fond regret and tears
  The days of our remaining years—­
    “When you and I were young, my boy,
      When you and I were young.”

UNEXPRESSED

  Deep in my heart that aches with the repression,
    And strives with plenitude of bitter pain,
  There lives a thought that clamors for expression,
    And spends its undelivered force in vain.

  What boots it that some other may have thought it? 
    The right of thoughts’ expression is divine;
  The price of pain I pay for it has bought it,
    I care not who lays claim to it—­’t is mine!

  And yet not mine until it be delivered;
    The manner of its birth shall prove the test. 
  Alas, alas, my rock of pride is shivered—­
    I beat my brow—­the thought still unexpressed.

SONG OF SUMMER

  Dis is gospel weathah sho’—­
    Hills is sawt o’ hazy. 
  Meddahs level ez a flo’
    Callin’ to de lazy. 
  Sky all white wif streaks o’ blue,
    Sunshine softly gleamin’,
  D’ain’t no wuk hit’s right to do,
    Nothin’ ‘s right but dreamin’.