Classic Poem

How far more brightly used to shine
The sun in days of old!
The morning air was like new wine
And stirred by breezes more benign;
The sunsets were all gold.
And trees! how tall they grew and green,
Long ago, in Muscatine!

The hills were higher then, I think;
The river far more wide,
With brighter pebbles on the brink,
And agates veined with red and pink,
And shells soft-iris dyed;
And all the creeks ran sparkling clean,
Long ago, in Muscatine.

How short the Third Street hill seems now
Where once we used to slide!
And snow! O, could I tell you how
Through mighty drifts we used to plow
Piled high and far and wide!
And yet the cold was not so keen,
Long ago, in Muscatine.

What makes these yards so wondrous small
Where we were wont to play
Long afternoons? And where are all
Those houses that I knew — so tall —
So stately — where are they?
They had huge gardens, too, between,
Long ago, in Muscatine.

How old all fathers used to be!
How youthful now they seem!
And mothers! Ah! we can't agree:
Ours seem more good and kind, to me;
How kind, you cannot dream.
You never knew the ones I mean,
Long ago, in Muscatine.

In our old street what little boys —
Mere mannikins — you see!
How childish are their games and toys;
So little fun, such empty noise!
Where can the brave lads be —
The limber lads, that once were seen,
Long ago, in Muscatine?

Where are the long, long hours of play?
The friends I loved so well?
Where is the zest for each new day?
Ah! life all went a different way;
Time had a different tale to tell
(Ere all this change could intervene)
Long ago, in Muscatine.