There are some scenes that we should not
Revisit, though most dear they be—
Some things we nevermore should see—
Some places that should be forgot.

One such not long ago I went
To look upon in mournful mood,
Awhile about the place to brood—
The old home where my youth was spent.

My very footfall on the floor
Was unfamiliar. It did seem
To me like walking in a dream—
All sadly altered—home no more—
A shattered house—a fallen gate—
A missing tree—red barren clay
Where flowers once stood in bright array—
All changed—all broken—desolate.

But when I came to stand within
The room where summer moons had shed
Soft luster round my dreamful bed
When my young life was free from sin—

The room wherein ambrosial hours
Were spent in cool and blissful rest
While gleaming stars went down the west
And all the land was sweet with flowers—

I could no more—I pressed my face
Against the silent wall, then stole
Away in agony of soul,
Regretting I had seen the place.