A Simple poem of innocent child hood which has been lost by the poet, beauty of the nature a meadow of childhood mirth, lost brother but tree is still so beautiful worth to hit the past, As we grow we are away from nature - The summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. Childhood, though seems to be mirth and here symbolized as ignorance -It was a childish ignorance, - now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. He has lost the childhood lost the innocence, lovely poem with poignant traces