The Good-Bye Days

O take me back to the good-bye days,

     When I used to run and ramble;

To the old mill pond, and the wood beyond,

     And the lanes thick lined with bramble.

I’d love to stroll in the shady grove,

     And list to the treetoad singing;

And watch the lark or the hawk at dark

     Go over the meadows winging.

I’d love to play in the old wigwam

     Where the ledges rose in splendor;

And talk half ‘fraid to the Indian maid

     In a language soft and tender.

Yes take me back to the good-bye days

     They cannot be brought me hither;

And let me dwell for the briefest spell

     In the joys that I once knew thither.

Dec. 26, ‘05