TO A SISTER.
Fanny, Fanny, dost remember
Days long gone, when we were young?
Dost remember how we sported,
How we laughed and how we sung?
Then we never dreamt of parting,
But each joyous, careless day
Fled; and no thought of to-morrow
Cross'd the sunshine of our way.
Dost remember that old garden,
'Twas so beautiful and fair,
With its wealth of tropic splendour,
With its balmy, perfum'd air?
Dost remember the dark alleys,
Arch'd with many rarest vines,
With their clusters hanging thickly
In long, many-coloured lines?
Dost remember that green arbour,
With its cool, refreshing shade,
With the passion-flowers shining
In the shadows which they made?
Dost remember the great willows
Weeping o'er their weight of years,
Dipping in the pond beneath them,
And then drying up their tears
As they trailed their snake-like branches
O'er the dried and withered grass,
With their heavy, woeful weeping,
Bringing life where they did pass?
