MIGHT I return to that May-day of gladness
When life is young, and all its promise fair;
Might I efface each memory of sadness,
And put away the weary load of care,—
To pluck the rose that in Time's Eden blows,
I would not go, were I to miss you there!
Might I ascend unto those realms of rapture
Whose amaranthine joys fade not again,
Might I the secrets of Elysium capture,
And find fruition for my longings vain,—
I would forego these dear delights, to know
That you were with me, and to share your pain.