And I remember ancient loyalties
And ardent ships of hope that have been wrecked
On sordid shores, and brooding much on these,
Prospect grows pallid before retrospect,
And all the hallowed passions of the years,
And all ideal longings, and dear pain,
And dedicated griefs, and secret tears,
Sweep back to overpower me again.
... Yet all that we have loved is part of us,
And those great hours are builded in our lives,
That vanished dream is yet the heart of us
And through the present still for utterance strives.
Of those great things the spirit makes its bread,
There pastures, and a parasite it preys
On glory, and grown sordid lifts its head
Reproached, transfigured by its yesterdays;
Learning that these same hidden souls of ours
Are wide terrains of spiritual wars
Where grow expectancies beyond the hours,
And prospects incommensurate with the stars.
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