IT is the past that maketh my despair; The dark, the sad, the irrevocable past. Alas! why should our lot in life be made, Before we know that life? Experience comes, But comes too late. If I could now recall All that I now regret, how different Would be my choice! at best a choice of ill; But better than my miserable past. Loathed, yet despised, why must I think of it? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 119 by ALFRED TENNYSON SONG OF SLAVES IN THE DESERT by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER A MARLOW MADRIGAL by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY THE LORD OF THOULOUSE; A LEGEND OF LANGUEDOC by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM FRAGMENTS INTENDED FOR DEATH'S JEST-BOOK: LOVE IS WISER THAN AMBITION by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE WIDOW'S THANKSGIVING by PHOEBE CARY |