Dying Days

So sweetly did the songbirds sound.
How precious was the peace, profound.
So slowly summer followed spring
when swallow spread its purple wing.

So softly streamed the sun’s sure rays
that lit and warmed our summer days.
So safe we felt, though hour was late,
when we laughed off our date with fate.

So deeply did the sunset dye
the hills a gorgeous gold and sky.
So certain and sublime life seemed,
of dying days we never dreamed.

So strange our likeness we behold
inside the glass now growing old.
So sad it has to tell this truth:
they're gone for good, those days of youth.