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 Then step and laugh alike are light, When, like a summer morning bright, Our spirits in their mirth are such, As turn to gold whate'er they touch. The past! 'tis nothing,—childhood's day Has rolled too recently away, For youth to shed those mournful tears That fill the eye in older years, When care looks back on that bright leaf, Of ready smiles and short-lived grief. The future! 'tis the promised land, To which Hope points with prophet hand, Telling us fairy tales of flowers That only change for fruit—and ours. Though false, though fleeting, and though vain, Thou blessed time I say again.

Glad being, with thy downcast eyes, And visionary look that lies Beneath their shadow, thou shalt share A world, where all my treasures are— My lute's sweet empire, filled with all That will obey my spirit's call; A world lit up by fancy's sun! Ah! little like our actual one.