| ALL my past life is mine no more; | |
| The flying hours are gone, | |
| Like transitory dreams given o'er, | |
| Whose images are kept in store | |
| By memory alone. | |
| The time that is to come is not; | |
| How can it then be mine? | |
| The present moment 's all my lot; | |
| And that, as fast as it is got, | |
| Phillis, is only thine. | |
| Then talk not of inconstancy, | |
| False hearts, and broken vows; | |
| If I by miracle can be | |
| This live-long minute true to thee, | |
| 'Tis all that Heaven allows. |
No comments:
Post a Comment