 | Thought and word |  |
88
PRESENT-FUTURE.
“Give back my youth!” the poets cry,“Give back my youth!”—so say not I.
Youth play'd its part with us; if we
Are losers, should we gainers be
By recommencing, with the same
Conditions, all the finish'd game?
If we see better now, we are
Already winners just so far,—
And merely ask to keep our winning,
Wipe out loss, for new beginning!
This may come, in Heaven's good way,
How, no mortal man shall say;
But not by fresh-recover'd taste
For sugarplums or valentines,
Or conjuring back the brightest day
Which gave its gift and therefore shines.
Win or lose, possess or miss,
There cannot be a weaker waste
Of memory's privilege than this—
To dwell among cast-off designs,
Stages, larvæ of yourself,
And leave the true thing on the shelf,
The Present-Future, wherewith blend
Hours that hasten to their end.
| Thought and word | |