Oh! the dreamy days of youth,
In appearance how uncouth,
As we waded through the frog ponds and
The ditches.
With big pathces on each knee,
And where they hadn't ought to be.
Oh! the days when one suspender
Held our breeches.
Oh! the dreamy days of yore,
And the slippery cellar door.
Oh! that cherry tree whose fruit we oft
Were testing.
Then we'd wait till after tea,
When we'd wing with doleful glee.
Oh! how often mother made it
Interesting.
