Classic Poem

When our eyes grow dim and our hair turns grey
And we sit by the fire together,
'T will seem strange to talk in a shivering way
Of our Summertime's rosy weather;

When our eyes were bright, and our tresses smooth,
And the blood in our veins leapt read,
In the golden dawn of our long lost youth,
With the promise of life ahead.

Shall we talk with smiles or with signs that day
Of the years that are dead and gone,
Of the cares and the joys that have passed away
Like dewdrops beneath the sun?

Nay, perchance we 'll see but the sunny side
Of the vision, in looking back,
And the trace of joys that are past may abide,
Where our sorrows have left no track;

And perhaps both the joys and the cares may seem
In the light of that later day,
Like the phantom shapes of some beautiful dream
That has long ago passed away.

But whate'er beside we may lose or hold
From the hoards of the golden past,
May the friends we loved in the days of old
To our hearts and thoughts cling fast,

And before the days come that are coming soon,
And whose motto is “I remember,”
God grant us one vision of love and June
To brighten our life's December.