Pity me that the heart is slow to learnWhat the swift mind beholds at every turn.

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.

My heart is warm with the friends I make, And better friends I'll not be knowing, Yet there isn't a train I wouldn't take, No matter where it's going.

It's little I know what's in my heart,What's in my mind it's little I know,But there's that in me must up and start,And it's little I care where my feet go.