Aboat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July--
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear--
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die.
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream?