I WAS not young when first I met
That graceful mien, that placid brow:
Ah! twice ten years have past, and yet
Near these I am not older now.
Happy how many have been made
Who gazed upon your sunny smile!
I sate as happy in the shade
To hear the voice that could beguile.
My sorrow for whate’er I left
In bright Ansonia, land of song,
And felt my breast not quite bereft
Of those home joys cast down so long.