Classic Poem

The perfumed fields of blooming May,
The evening scent of new-mown hay
Touch nerve olfactory,
And carry to the thoughtful brain
Loved memories of a long-past train
That once was full of glee.

Though flowers to-day are choice and rare,
In colors they may well compare
With richest hues we meet;
They lack the charm that gave them power
Since past is youth's entrancing hour
Their fragrance seems less sweet.