I have had playmates, I have had companions; In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days - All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
New Year's Day is every man's birthday.
All people have their blind side-their superstitions.
Satire does not look pretty upon a tombstone.
I give thee all,-I can no more, Though poor the off'ring be; My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.
Is the world all grown up? Is childhood dead? Or is there not in the bosom of the wisest and the best some of the child's heart left, to respond to its earliest enchantments?