Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Prolonged absence makes the heart forget.
I'd be a butterfly; living a rover, Dying when fair things are fading away.
Oh! where do fairies hide their heads, When snow lies on the hills, When frost has spoiled their mossy beds, And crystallized their rills?
Why don't the men propose, Mamma? Why don't the men propose?
Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.
Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou may'st be.