Not solely that the Future she destroys,
And the fair life which in the distance lies
For all men, beckoning out from dim rich skies:
Nor that the passing hour’s supporting joys
Have lost the keen-edged flavour, which begat
Distinction in old times, and still should breed
Sweet Memory, and Hope,–earth’s modest seed,
And heaven’s high-prompting: not that the world is flat
Since that soft-luring creature I embraced,
Among the children of Illusion went:
Methinks with all this loss I were content,
If the mad Past, on which my foot is based,
Were firm, or might be blotted: but the whole
Of life is mixed: the mocking Past will stay:
And if I drink oblivion of a day,
So shorten I the stature of my soul.
(George Meredith)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Life Poems, World Poems, Soul Poems, Fairness Poems, Past Poems, Children Poems, Memory Poems, Future Poems, Madness PoemsBased on Keywords: beckoning, destroys, blotted, solely, distinction, shorten, begat, flavour, keen-edged
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