We cherish all the past, we glide a-down the present, awake yet dreaming; but the future of ours together—there the bird sings loudest, and the sun shines always there...

Look back on Time, with kindly eyes -He doubtless did his best -How softly sinks that trembling sunIn Human Nature's West -

The past is such a curious creature,To look her in the faceA transport may reward us,Or a disgrace.Unarmed if any meet her,I charge them, fly !Her rusty ammunitionMight yet reply !

The past is not a package one can lay away.

Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate, Whose table once a Guest, but not The second time, is set. Whose crumbs the crows inspect, And with ironic caw Flap past it to the Farmer's corn; Men eat of it and die.

The Things that never can come back, are several- Childhood-some forms of Hope-the Dead- Though Joys-like Men-may sometimes make a Journey- And still abide-.