CHILDHOOD. 
Oh thou, New-Year, delaying long, 
Delayest the sorrow in my blood, 
That longs to burst a frozen bud, 
And flood a fresher throat with song. 
Childhood. 
Anon, 
NEVER wander ’mong the flowers, 
But mem’ry will be straying 
To other days and other hours, 
When childhood went a-May-ing. 
O precious days, O bappy hours, 
How mem’ry backward lingers, 
To pluck again the dewy flowers, 
With childhood’s rosy fingers. 
O give me back that olden time, 
When childhood knew no sorrow; 
But only cared to pluck life’s flowers, 
And dreamed not of the morrow. 


















