“Linger,” I cried, “oh radiant Time! thy power
Has nothing more to give; life is complete:
Let but the perfect Present, hour by hour,
Itself remember and itself repeat.
“And Love,–the future can but mar its splendour,
Change can but dim the glory of its youth;
Time has no star more faithful or more tender,
To crown its constancy or light its truth.”
But Time passed on in spite of prayer or pleading,
Through storm and peril; but that life might gain
A Peace through strife all other peace exceeding,
Fresh joy from sorrow, and new hope from pain.
And since Love lived when all save Love was dying,
And, passed through fire, grew stronger than before:-
Dear, you know why, in double faith relying,
I prize the Past much, but the Present more.