And bitter waxed the fray; Brother with brother spake no word When they met in the way.

When sparrows build and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries.

Her face betokened all things dear and good, The light of somewhat yet to come was there Asleep, and waiting for the opening day, When childish thoughts, like flowers would drift away.

And old affront will stir the heart Through years of rankling pain.

Youth! youth! how buoyant are thy hopes; they turn, Like marigolds, toward the sunny side.