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. The Fitful Alternations of the Rain
3. Matilda Gathering Flowers
4. I Would Not Be A King
5. Liberty

Ella Wilcox The Past ("Fling my past behind me, like a robe")

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