For works with similar titles, see Past and Present.
Can this be the creature of laughter and light,
Who, twenty short summers ago,
O'er the clouds of my spirit threw colours as bright
As heaven's own beautiful bow?
PAST AND PRESENT.
Can this be the creature of laughter and light,
Who, twenty short summers ago,
O'er the clouds of my spirit threw colours as bright
As heaven's own beautiful bow?
Can this be the maid of the merry blue eye,
That chained the young heart in my breast,
'Till it throbbed with delight if her form flitted by,
Or came in bright dreams to my rest?—
That chained the young heart in my breast,
'Till it throbbed with delight if her form flitted by,
Or came in bright dreams to my rest?—
Who roamed o'er the green with a fairy-like trip,
Or so featly danced over the dew,—
While laughter seemed born on her roseate lip,
And smiles were the breath that she drew?—
Or so featly danced over the dew,—
While laughter seemed born on her roseate lip,
And smiles were the breath that she drew?—
Whose voice had the gladness and mirth of a rill,
The sweetness of musical birds,—
And the ear and the heart were made captive at will,
By the sound of her soft-flowing words?
The sweetness of musical birds,—
And the ear and the heart were made captive at will,
By the sound of her soft-flowing words?
How changed;—yet methinks there's a lovelier light
That beams from her gentle blue eye—
A something more holy, more tenderly bright,
Than lit them in seasons gone by.
That beams from her gentle blue eye—
A something more holy, more tenderly bright,
Than lit them in seasons gone by.
The rich golden curls that once shaded her brow
Are parted with matronly grace,
And a few silver threads intertwined with them now,
Usurp all too quickly their place.
Are parted with matronly grace,
And a few silver threads intertwined with them now,
Usurp all too quickly their place.
She is changed—but long vigils in weariness kept,
Her lily-like paleness bespeak,
And eyes will grow dim that too often have wept,
And grief leave its trace on the cheek.
Her lily-like paleness bespeak,
And eyes will grow dim that too often have wept,
And grief leave its trace on the cheek.
For sorrow's dark pall o'er her life hath been cast,
The life once so happy and gay;
And idols, as dear as the life-blood, have passed
From her heart's inmost temple away.
The life once so happy and gay;
And idols, as dear as the life-blood, have passed
From her heart's inmost temple away.
She is changed—the rare beauty, my pride and delight,
Like a blossom too soon hath decayed,
But her soul, a pure jewel transcendently bright,
Still shines, though the casket may fade.
Like a blossom too soon hath decayed,
But her soul, a pure jewel transcendently bright,
Still shines, though the casket may fade.
Sweet wife of my bosom, though years have flown o'er,
Since the moment I called thee my bride,
Yet the love that we cherished so fondly of yore,
Shall still keep me close to thy side.
Since the moment I called thee my bride,
Yet the love that we cherished so fondly of yore,
Shall still keep me close to thy side.
Shall still every thought of my being engage,
To prize all thy goodness and truth,
And still will I love thee as fondly in age,
As fondly I loved thee in youth.
To prize all thy goodness and truth,
And still will I love thee as fondly in age,
As fondly I loved thee in youth.