"Do you think of the days that are gone, Jeannie,
  As you sit by the fire at night?
Do you wish that the morn would bring back the time,
  When your heart and your step were so light?"

"I think of the days that are gone, Robin,
  And of all that I joyed in then;
But the brightest that ever arose on me,
  I have never wished back again."

"Do you think of the hopes that are gone, Jeannie,
  As you sit by the fire at night?
Do you gather them up, as they faded fast,
  Like buds with an early blight?"

"I think of the hopes that are gone, Robin,
  And I mourn not their stay was fleet,
For they fell as the leaves of the roses fall,
  And were even in falling sweet."

"Do you think of the friends that are gone, Jeannie,
  As you sit by the fire at night?
Do you wish they were round you again once more,
  By the hearth that they made so bright?"

"I think of the friends that are gone, Robin;
  They are dear to my heart as then;
But the best and the dearest among them all
  I have never wished back again."