 | The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell |  |
109
THE PAST THAT IS NOT OURS.
Let us forget the Past!
It may have been both bright and dear:
Another world is here;
It was not made to last;
Let us forget: 't is past!
It may have been both bright and dear:
Another world is here;
It was not made to last;
Let us forget: 't is past!
Take, if you will, once more,
The fading memories in hand:
In old thought once more stand;
Then fling them from the shore!
Ours they can be no more.
The fading memories in hand:
In old thought once more stand;
Then fling them from the shore!
Ours they can be no more.
Youth, to our far-off eyes,
Seems glad with beams of better light:
It only cheats the sight:
There were spring's changeful skies:
Let us not turn our eyes!
Seems glad with beams of better light:
It only cheats the sight:
There were spring's changeful skies:
Let us not turn our eyes!
Here is our own fair time:
Here God has spread His blessed day;
The fresh breeze comes this way;
This is a better clime:
Why shall we mourn that time?
Here God has spread His blessed day;
110
This is a better clime:
Why shall we mourn that time?
We shall go farther, yet:
And bear our wayside harvest dried:
Our friends shall go beside;
The Past we may forget:
Our way leads forward, yet.
And bear our wayside harvest dried:
Our friends shall go beside;
The Past we may forget:
Our way leads forward, yet.
July 30, 1863.
| The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell | |