70
THE PAST.
At the hush of even,
Glow the silver stars,
Through the purple heaven's
Soft empyrean bars;
On the shore the billows
Break their melodies,
While the snow-winged vessels
Shiver in the breeze,—
God! thy living Spirit
Stands upon the seas.
Glow the silver stars,
Through the purple heaven's
Soft empyrean bars;
On the shore the billows
Break their melodies,
While the snow-winged vessels
Shiver in the breeze,—
God! thy living Spirit
Stands upon the seas.
THE PAST.
The Past! I would not make it dead!
Its glories I would keep,
Though they be like the empty dreams
That haunt me in my sleep.
I would not have the splendor fade
That gleams across lost days,
Like the red brilliance of the light
Left on the sunset ways.
Its glories I would keep,
Though they be like the empty dreams
That haunt me in my sleep.
I would not have the splendor fade
That gleams across lost days,
Like the red brilliance of the light
Left on the sunset ways.
I would not pluck the lotus leaf,
Though it might heal the pain
That thrills me, often, when I touch
Some link in Memory's chain;
Nor would I dip in Lethean wave,
Though it were crystal clear,—
It might destroy some tender thought
That makes me quiet here.
Though it might heal the pain
That thrills me, often, when I touch
Some link in Memory's chain;
Nor would I dip in Lethean wave,
Though it were crystal clear,—
It might destroy some tender thought
That makes me quiet here.
