REGRET.

O that word REGRET!

There have been nights and morns when we have sighed,

“Let us alone, Regret! We are content

To throw thee all our past, so thou wilt sleep

For aye.” But it is patient, and it wakes;

It hath not learned to cry itself to sleep,

But plaineth on the bed that it is hard.

We did amiss when we did wish it gone

And over: sorrows humanize our race;

Tears are the showers that fertilize this world;

And memory of things precious keepeth warm

The heart that once did hold them.

They are poor

That have lost nothing; they are poorer far

Who, losing, have forgotten; they most poor

Of all, who lose and wish they MIGHT forget.

For life is one, and in its warp and woof

There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair,

And sometimes in the pattern shows most sweet

Where there are sombre colors. It is true

That we have wept. But O! this thread of gold,

We would not have it tarnish; let us turn

Oft and look back upon the wondrous web,

And when it shineth sometimes we shall know

That memory is possession.

When I remember something which I had,

But which is gone, and I must do without,

I sometimes wonder how I can be glad,

Even in cowslip time when hedges sprout;

It makes me sigh to think on it,— but yet

My days will not be better days, should I forget.

When I remember something promised me,

But which I never had, nor can have now,

Because the promiser we no more see

In countries that accord with mortal vow;

When I remember this, I mourn,— but yet

My happier days are not the days when I forget.