Only a spar from a broken ship
Washed in by a careless wave;
But it brought back the smile of a vanished lip,
And his past peered out of the grave.
Only a leaf that an idle breeze
Tossed at her passing feet;
But she seemed to stand under the dear old trees,
And life again was sweet.
Only the bar of a tender strain
They sang in days gone by;
But the old love woke in her heart again,
The love they had sworn should die.
Only the breath of a faint perfume
That floated up from a rose;
But the bolts slid back from a marble tomb,
And I looked on a dear dead face.
Who vaunts the might of a human will,
When a perfume or a sound
Can wake a Past that we bade lie still,
And open a long closed wound?
Yesterdays. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
London: Gay & Hancock, 1916.
|Back to Poem Index|