Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.
Thomas Hood CCXXIV. Past and PresentI
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day:
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups—
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance;
But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from heaven
Than when I was a boy.