Ah! that “Past”—that bitter parting,
Long ago, yet vivid seems—
Oft in midnight’s black arms folded
I have lived it o’er in dreams;
As a presence it has shadowed
Every path of life I’ve tried—
If I joined the festive circle
It was stalking by my side.
If I sat at hush of even
With a sense of love and trust,
It would come and stand before me,
Hissing out the word—unjust;
It has stretched its ghostly fingers
For all blessings to destroy,
And has poured its gall and wormwood
In each lifted cup of joy.
Had you winged a sweet forgiveness,
Sent it o’er the “silent line,”
It had proved a benediction
Falling on your life and mine.
Through the years that phantom presence,
Like a black bird o’er my door,
Seemed to say, by silent glowering,
“I will leave thee nevermore.”
You can drive this haunting demon,
Send in place a snowy dove—
Only breathe the longed for blessing,
Not youth’s fervent tale of love,
And on friendship’s sacred altar
Light a pure and holy flame,
That may burn before the angels
Without blanch or blush of shame.