Waking long-forgotten dreams
Of the days of early childhood,
When we gayly gathered them;
Wove them into bright-hued chaplets,
Placed them on a childish brow,
Dreaming dreams of fame and fortune,
That we smile to think of now.
Or, with ever fertile fancy,
Traced we fairy castles fine,
Flowing brooks, and winding rivers.
In each varied tint and line.
Or we gazed in childish wonder,
While the trees in beauty shone,
Red and purple, gold and russet.
Each with beauty all its own.
And the branches gently swaying
In the soft October breeze.
Gave fresh treasures to our keeping —
Golden, bright-hued, autumn leaves.
Now we've left those days behind us,
And we face the sober life.
All our childish dreams and fancies.
Lost beneath its toil and strife.
But whene'er comes bright October,
With her wealth of golden trees,
Then again, we're dreaming children,
Playing in the autumn leaves.