Classic Poem

Like the foam on the wave
My boyhood has sped,
And its rainbow colors
Are broken and fled,
And a tear oft glistens
In memories ee
For the days I have passed
'Neath the old elm tree.

On the silvery pinions
Of butterfly Hope
My mind often wanders
From realities' scope,
But weary it turns
And gladly doth flee
To the days I have passed
'Neath the old elm tree.

Though Ambition may twine me
Her chaplet most fair —
'Tis a wreath that may wither,
Unstable as air.
A chaplet I'll weave
More pleasant to me —
A garland of Leaves
From the old elm tree.

And when I have quitted
The toils of this life,
Disgusted of all,
Its cares and its strife,
I'll seek me a home,
And that home shall be
Overspread by the boughs
Of the old elm tree.