I remember, I remember How my childhood fleeted by,— The mirth of its December And the warmth of its July. - Winthrop Mackworth Praed

Dame Fortune is a fickle gipsy,
And always blind, and often tipsy;
Sometimes for years and years together,
She ’ll bless you with the sunniest weather,
Bestowing honour, pudding, pence,
You can’t imagine why or whence;—
Then in a moment—Presto, pass!—
Your joys are withered like the grass;

She was our queen, our rose, our star;
And then she danced—O Heaven, her dancing!

And oh! I shall find how, day by day,
All thoughts and things look older;
How the laugh of pleasure grows less gay,
And the heart of friendship colder.