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We grow too cold and careless,
As after years come on;
The fanciful is vanished,
The beautiful is gone.
Where are the old affections,
That once appeared so true?
And if we could, we cannot,
Their once sweet life renew.
It is a mournful memory,
The memory of the past;
Each year a deeper darkness
Is on our pathway cast.
Ah! ye darling flowers of summer!
Would ye could bid depart
The shadow on my spirit,
The coldness at my heart.
