Poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The Past

Wilt thou forget the happy hours
Which we buried in Love's sweet bowers,
Heaping over their corpses cold
Blossoms and leaves, instead of mould?
Blossoms which were the joys that fell,
And leaves, the hopes that yet remain.

Forget the dead, the past? Oh, yet
There are ghosts that may take revenge for it,
Memories that make the heart a tomb,
Regrets which glide through the spirit's gloom,
And with ghastly whispers tell
That joy, once lost, is pain.

1. Homer's Hymn to Minerva
2. From the Arabic, an Imitation
3. Matilda Gathering Flowers
4. Bereavement
5. The Fitful Alternations of the Rain

William Bryant The Past ("Thou unrelenting Past!")

Print

7008 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version