THE WATERS make a music low:
 The river reeds
Are trembling to the tunes of long ago?
 Dead days and deeds 
Become alive again, as on
 I float, and float,
Through shadows of the golden summers gone
 And springs remote. 

Above my head the trees bloom out
 In white and red
Great blossoms, that make glad the air about;
 And old suns shed 

Their rays athwart them. Ah, the light
 Is bright and fair!
No suns that shine upon me now are bright
 As those suns were. 

And, gazing down into the stream,
 I see a face,
As sweet as buds that blossom in a dream,
 Ere sorrows chase 

Fair dreams from men, and send in lieu
 Sad thoughts. A wreath
Of blue-bells binds the head?a bluer blue
 The eyes beneath. 

This is my little Annie?s face;
 My child-sweetheart
Whom long ago I lost in that dark place
 Where all lives part. 

Beside me still I see her stand,
 Who is no more.
She walked with me through childhood, hand in hand,
 But at the door 

Of youth departed from me. Fain
 Was I that day
To go with her. Ah, sweetheart, come again
 This First of May!