THE GHOST OF THE PAST

WE two kept house, the Past and I,

The Past and I;

I tended while it hovered nigh,

Leaving me never alone.

It was a spectral housekeeping

Where fell no jarring tone,

As strange, as still a housekeeping

As ever has been known.

As daily I went up the stair

And down the stair,

I did not mind the Bygone there—

The Present once to me;

Its moving meek companionship

I wished might ever be,

There was in that companionship

Something of ecstasy.

It dwelt with me just as it was,

Just as it was

When first its prospects gave me pause

In wayward wanderings,

Before the years had torn old troths

As they tear all sweet things,

Before gaunt griefs had torn old troths

And dulled old rapturings.

And then its form began to fade,

Began to fade,

Its gentle echoes faintlier played

At eves upon my ear

Than when the autumn’s look embrowned

The lonely chambers here,

The autumn’s settling shades embrowned

Nooks that it haunted near.

And so with time my vision less,

Yea, less and less

Makes of that Past my housemistress,

It dwindles in my eye;

It looms a far-off skeleton

And not a comrade nigh,

A fitful far-off skeleton

Dimming as days draw by.

AFTER THE VISIT

(_To F. E. D._)

COME again to the place

Where your presence was as a leaf that skims

Down a drouthy way whose ascent bedims

The bloom on the farer’s face.

Come again, with the feet

That were light on the green as a thistledown ball,

And those mute ministrations to one and to all

Beyond a man’s saying sweet.

Until then the faint scent

Of the bordering flowers swam unheeded away,

And I marked not the charm in the changes of day

As the cloud-colours came and went.

Through the dark corridors

Your walk was so soundless I did not know

Your form from a phantom’s of long ago

Said to pass on the ancient floors,

Till you drew from the shade,

And I saw the large luminous living eyes

Regard me in fixed inquiring-wise

As those of a soul that weighed,

Scarce consciously,

The eternal question of what Life was,

And why we were there, and by whose strange laws

That which mattered most could not be.

Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces · 第 15 / 138 题