Down along the dwindled creek

We go loitering. We speak

Only with old questionings

Of the dear remembered things

Of the days of long ago, 

When the stream seemed thus and so

In our boyish eyes:--- The bank

Greener then, through rank on rank

Of the mottled sycamores,

Touching tops across the shores:

Here, the hazel thicket stood ---

There, the almost pathless wood

Where the shellbark hickory tree

Rained its wealth on you and me. 

Autumn! as you loved us then,

Take us to your heart again!

James Whitcomb Riley, from Time of Clearer Twitterings