Here you will find the Poem Happy Days of poet Mary Hannay Foott
A fringe of rushes, one green line Upon a faded plain; A silver streak of water-shine, Above, tree-watchers twain. It was our resting-place awhile, And still, with backward gaze, We say: ?'Tis many a weary mile, But there were happy days.? And shall no ripple break the sand Upon our farther way? Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand? Or leafy tree-tops sway? The gold of dawn is surely met In sunset's lavish blaze; And, in horizons hidden yet, There shall be happy days.