Among the golden sheaves, my love,1
We wandered years ago ;2
The harvest moon shone bright above,3
The silver sea below.4
O, sheaves of gold, O days to be,5
O, harvest sweet and true,—6
For you were all in all to me,7
And I was all to you.8
And still the same old fields I tread,—9
You come no more again,10
The fields are bare, the’ poppies dead,11
And all my harvests vain.12
Across the gulf that parts us now13
With breaking heart I lean.14
O sheaves of gold, O days of old,15
O love that might have been !”16