When dull November's misty shroud,
All Nature's charms depress,
Flinging a damp, dark, deadening cloud,
O'er each heart's joyousness.
Our fancies quit their lighter vein,
And out from Memory's shrine,
We marshal thoughts of grief and pain,
Known,—once upon a time.
'Tis then that faces, long forgot,
In shadows reappear;—
Voices, that once we heeded not,
Come whispering in the ear;
And ghosts of friends whom once we met,
When life was in its prime,
Recall acts we would fain forget,
Done,—once upon time.
Regretfull sighs for thoughtless deeds,
That worked another wrong;
Vows that we broke, like rotten reeds
Like spectres glide along;
Tears naught avail to heal the smart,
We caused—nor deemed it crime,
Whilst selfishly we wrung a heart,
Loved,—once upon a time.
Oh, could we but, as on we go,
Care more for other's weal,
Nor deem all joys earth can bestow,
Are but for us to feel;
Then howe'er humble, howe'er poor,
Our lives would be sublime,
Nor should we dread to ponder o'er,
Days,—once upon a time.