THOU art to me like all the days -- They ebb and flow with punctual tides, Leave driftwood -- wreckage on the sands, Perhaps a shell besides; Swift, incommunicable, vast, They poise -- then perish in the past. And yet I have not all forgot Those years when every day seemed long, A separate age of joys and play, Of wonder-tales and song; I marvel, Yesterday, to know Thou still art childhood's Long Ago! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENGLAND AND HER COLONIES [OR, DOMINIONS] by WILLIAM WATSON A SONG OF A YOUNG LADY TO HER ANCIENT LOVER by JOHN WILMOT AGAMEMNON: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS BRUCE: HOW THE BRUCE CROSSED LOCH LOMOND by JOHN BARBOUR STANZAS TO HELEN M-- M-- by BERNARD BARTON PERSONALITY by WILLIAM ROSE BENET |