Quite carelessly I turned the newsy sheet; br A song I sang, full many a year ago, br Smiled up at me, as in a busy street br One meets an old-time friend he used to know. br So full it was, that simple little song, br Of all the hope, the transport, and the truth, br Which to the impetuous morn of life belong, br That once again I seemed to grasp my youth. br So full it was of that sweet, fancied pain br We woo and cherish ere we meet with woe, br I felt as one who hears a plaintive strain br His mother sang him in the long ago. br Up from the grave the years that lay between br That song's birthday and my stern present came br Like phantom forms and swept across the scene, br Bearing their broken dreams of love and fame. br Fair hopes and bright ambitions that I knew br In that old time, with their ideal grace, br Shone for a moment, then were lost to view br Behind the dull clouds of the commonplace. br With trembling hands I put the sheet away; br Ah, little song! the sad and bitter truth br Struck like an arrow when we met that day! br My life has missed the promise of its youth.