You will forget me. The years are so tender,
They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep;
This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendor
Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep;
The clouds of forgetfulness, over and over
Will banish the last rosy colors away;
And the fingers of time will weave garlands to cover
The scar which you think is a life-mark today.
You will forget me. The one boon you covet
Now above all things will soon seem no prize,
And the heart, which you hold not in keeping to prove it
True or untrue, will lose worth in your eyes.
The one drop today, that you deem only wanting
To fill your life-cup to the brim, soon will seem
But a valueless mite; and the ghost that is haunting
The aisles of your heart will pass out with the dream.
You will forget me; will thank me for saying
The words which you think are so pointed with pain.
Time loves a new lay; and the dirge he is playing
Will change for you soon to a livelier strain.
I shall pass from your life--I shall pass out forever,
And the hours we have spent will be sunk in the past.
Youth buries its dead; grief kills seldom or never--
And forgetfulness covers all sorrows at last.
Poems of Passion by Ella Wheeler
Chicago : Belford, Clarke & Co, 1883.
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