Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
The old familiar FacesCharles Lamb (17751834)
I
In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days,
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies,
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her—
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly;
Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces.
Earth seem’d a desert I was bound to traverse,
Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
Why wert not thou born in my father’s dwelling?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces—
And some are taken from me; all are departed
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.