THE GHOST OF THE PAST
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E two kept house, the Past and I,The Past and I;I tended while it hovered nigh,Leaving me never alone.It was a spectral housekeepingWhere fell no jarring tone,As strange, as still a housekeepingAs ever has been known. As daily I went up the stairAnd down the stair,I did not mind the Bygone there—The Present once to me;Its moving meek companionshipI wished might ever be,There was in that companionshipSomething of ecstasy. It dwelt with me just as it was,Just as it wasWhen first its prospects gave me pauseIn wayward wanderings,Before the years had torn old trothsAs they tear all sweet things,Before gaunt griefs had torn old trothsAnd dulled old rapturings. And then its form began to fade,Began to fade,Its gentle echoes faintlier playedAt eves upon my earThan when the autumn’s look embrownedThe lonely chambers here,The autumn’s settling shades embrownedNooks that it haunted near. And so with time my vision less,Yea, less and lessMakes of that Past my housemistress,It dwindles in my eye;It looms a far-off skeletonAnd not a comrade nigh,A fitful far-off skeletonDimming as days draw by.
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