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

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

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.

Of science and logic he chatters,
As fine and as fast as he can;
Though I am no judge of such matters,
I’m sure he’s a talented man.