Those twilights are now not the same,
When did I hear that purl again?
Ages ago, I surmise, I laugh;
But, truth cannot be esoteric, alas!
When did I last see her dangle her wings,
I think when the spring blushed the mornings,
And now with the fog of times, they dissipate away
Like the Arabian sands which soar in May.

The crimson skies now cry desertion
For the steeple is now the unwanted inception
A time was there long before
When I could see a company more than four
At times I returned with a satchel subsuming a dozen sorrows
Then I danced my summers away with those jocund sparrows.