From The Birmingham Age Herald, October 19, 1914. By W. W. Hendree.
Who has not had some little life-romance—
Some dream of love so painful, yet so sweet?
Who has not felt his heart thrilled by a glance,
Nor known the ecstacy when fond lips meet?
Such things grow tasteless as the years advance
And age cools down the blood from feverheat;
But still, although the thought of passion dies,
We linger fondly o’er its memories.
Few ever marry their first early love;
But after one has mingled in the strife
Of varied passions—after fate has wove
More than one broken thread into his life,
Then he begins to feel the dearth of love,
And takes into his heart and home a wife;
And oft, though love be wanting at the first,
A sweet affection grows, by circumstances nursed.
But still through all there oftentimes will break
A whisper of the past we had thought dumb,
And recollections swift and sweet will make
The present seem so sad and wearisome;
It sometimes seems as if the heart would break
In thinking of the dreary years to come,
And for the moment in our hearts we sin
With vain regrets of that which might have been.
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