I remember a morn behind the mill,
When blackbirds sang,
And sheep-bells rang,
Far off, and all things else were still,
But the rising bream
In the pictured stream,
And the noise of water about the mill.
I remember a maid in her sweet youth,
Whose gentle days
In village ways
Were passed in simple works of truth;
The summer's day
Sped fast away
In a dream of love, in the time of youth.
I remember the spring in garb of green,
The light heart glee
That came to me
With the smile of my love at seventeen;
Her laugh that went
Like woodland scent
To my soul — that time on the daisied green.
And though I know the days are spent,
That love was lost
When came the frost
At summer's close of my content,
Yet some joy stays
In winter days,
And brings its joyous complement.
