Modern Love: XII

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.