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BEYOND
HAD we the present—only that, no more!
Were the past, hidden by Oblivion's door,
Impenetrable to our backward gaze,
Its lessons lost, its joyful, tearful days!
Were there no vision of untrodden ways,
No distant fields of morn, no blooms unfound,
No skyey hopes to beckon from the ground,—
No loves whose waiting welcome ne'er betrays!
Were there no promise of returning Spring
When Autumn preens a migratory wing,
And on earth's hearth the fire is burning low!—
Were there no future with romance aglow,
When the chilled blood within the vein moves slow,
No dream of a fair dawning, in the night,—
No fond expectancy,—no pledge of light
Fairer than cloud-veiled days of winter know!
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To-morrow!—mystic word of the Ideal!
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