Adown the lanes of memory bloom all the flowers of yesteryear,
And looking back we smile to see life's bright red roses reappear,
The little sprigs of mignonette that smiled upon us as we passed,
The pansy and the violet, too sweet, we thought those days, to last.
I stood and watched him playing,
A little lad of three,
And back to me came straying
The years that used to be;