THE SWEETNESS OF THE PAST

As sailors watch from their prison For the faint grey 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 indelicate 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 things of the past are the best.

The rose of the past is better Than the rose we ravish to-day, 'Tis holier, purer, and fitter To place on the shrine where we pray For the secret thoughts we obey.

There are there no deceptions or changes, And there all is lovely and still; No grief nor fate that estranges, Nor hope that no life can fulfil, But ethereal shelter from ill.

The coarser 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 sooner or later returning In grief to the well-loved nest, Our souls filled with infinite yearning, We cry, in the past there is rest, There is peace, its joys are the best.