Poems (Trask)/The Past

by Clara Augusta Jones Trask

THE PAST.

The Past! I would not make it dead!
 Its glories I would keep,
Though they be like the empty dreams
 That haunt me in my sleep.
I would not have the splendor fade
 That gleams across lost days,
Like the red brilliance of the light
 Left on the sunset ways.

I would not pluck the lotus leaf,
 Though it might heal the pain
That thrills me, often, when I touch
 Some link in Memory's chain;
Nor would I dip in Lethean wave,
 Though it were crystal clear,—
It might destroy some tender thought
 That makes me quiet here.

The sharp experience that Time gives,
 We greatly profit by;
'Tis well to keep remembrances
 Of all our errors nigh,—
Perhaps 'twill help us to forgive
 The wrongs that others do,
To bear in mind, while blaming them,
 That we are guilty too.

And then, there are such pleasant things
 Connected with the Past,
That o'er the whole of life's rough track
 A glow of light they cast!
Touches, and tones, and tender thrills,
 Caresses lost fore'er;
But still they give suggestions dim
 Of what might have been here.