Back In Boyhood

To the days of my boyhood my heart loves to
roam,
And with tender and pensive delight
I recall the old times and the precious old home,
With its clustering memories bright.
The once commonplace things are now common
no more,
As seen through the half darkened glow,
That conceals yet reveals the dear objects of yore,
In the mystical, sweet long ago.

The weather-worn woodshed I see, and the
wood--
The dry maple and beech-corded high;
And I see where the well hacked old sawbuck
once stood,
With the axes and wedges near by.
And the white garden fence is still seen in my
thought;
The forget-me-nots, also, are there;