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Home  »  library  »  poem  »  To the Past

C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

To the Past

By William Cullen Bryant (1794–1878)

THOU unrelenting Past!

Stern are the fetters round thy dark domain,

And fetters, sure and fast,

Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.

Far in thy realm withdrawn

Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,

And glorious ages gone

Lie deep within the shadows of thy womb.

Childhood, with all its mirth,

Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground,

And last, Man’s Life on earth,

Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.

Thou hast my better years,

Thou hast my earlier friends—the good, the kind—

Yielded to thee with tears—

The venerable form, the exalted mind.

My spirit yearns to bring

The lost ones back; yearns with desire intense,

And struggles hard to wring

Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.

In vain!—Thy gates deny

All passage save to those who hence depart,

Nor to the streaming eye

Thou givest them back, nor to the broken heart.

In thy abysses hide

Beauty and excellence unknown. To thee

Earth’s wonder and her pride

Are gathered, as the waters to the sea.

Labors of good to man,

Unpublished charity, unbroken faith;

Love, that ’midst grief began,

And grew with years, and faltered not in death.

Full many a mighty name

Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered.

With thee are silent Fame,

Forgotten Arts, and Wisdom disappeared.

Thine for a space are they,

Yet thou shalt yield thy treasures up at last;

Thy gates shall yet give way,

Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past!

All that of good and fair

Has gone into thy womb from earliest time

Shall then come forth, to wear

The glory and the beauty of its prime.

They have not perished—no!

Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,

Smiles, radiant long ago,

And features, the great soul’s apparent seat:

All shall come back. Each tie

Of pure affection shall be knit again:

Alone shall Evil die,

And sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reign.

And then shall I behold

Him by whose kind paternal side I sprung;

And her who, still and cold,

Fills the next grave—the beautiful and young.