As sailors watch from their prison For the long, gray line of the coasts, I look to the past re-arisen, And joys come over in hosts Like the white sea-birds from their roosts. I love not the delicate present, The future's unknown to our quest; To-day is the life of the peasant, But the past is a haven of rest, -- The joy of the past is the best. The rose of the past is better Than the rose we ravish to-day; 'T is holier, purer, and fitter To place on the shrine where we pray, -- For the secret thoughts we obey. There are no deceptions nor changes, There all is as placid and still; No grief nor fate that estranges, Nor hope that no life can fulfil; But ethereal shelter from ill. The coarse delights of the hour Tempt and debauch and deprave; And we joy in a poisonous flower, Knowing that nothing can save Our flesh from the fate of the grave. But surely we leave them returning In grief to the well-loved nest, Filled with an infinite yearning, Knowing the past to be rest, -- That the things of the past are the best. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY by JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER THE AUTO-DA-FE; A LEGEND OF SPAIN by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM THE BRAWL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE RURAL PIPE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON DOROTHEA by SARAH NORCLIFFE CLEGHORN DEER SEASON by ETHEL CASE COOK |