The Past

Charles Harpur

THE PAST is flowing through my thoughts—
        Flowing like a sea;
With all its billows dancing bright
Over what?—an undermight
        Of darkling loss and destiny.

Still it floweth through my thoughts—
        Floweth like a sea;
While of worn hope I ask alway,
Like an unsought cast-astray—
        What can the future bring to me?

And hope herself admits: To thee
        But a darkening scene—
Only slow days of care and doubt,
Only a dreary lengthening out,
        Of what this later past hath been.

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