Poems (Procter)/Phantoms

by Adelaide Anne Procter

For works with similar titles, see Phantoms.

PHANTOMS.

ACK, ye Phantoms of the Past In your dreary caves remain:What have I to do with memories Of a long-forgotten pain?

For my Present is all peaceful, And my Future nobly planned:Long ago Time's mighty billows Swept your footsteps from the sand.

Back into your caves; nor haunt me With your voices full of woe;I have buried grief and sorrow In the depths of Long-ago.

See the glorious clouds of morning Roll away, and clear and bright Shine the rays of cloudless daylight:— Wherefore will ye moan of night?

Never shall my heart be burthened With its ancient woe and fears;I can drive them from my presence, I can check these foolish tears.

Back, ye Phantoms; leave, O leave me, To a new and happy lot;Speak no more of things departed; Leave me—for I know ye not.

Can it be that 'mid my gladness I must ever hear you wail,Of the grief that wrung my spirit, And that made my cheek so pale?

Joy is mine; but your sad voices Murmur ever in mine ear:Vain is all the Future's promise, While the dreary Past is here.

Vain, O worse than vain, the Visions That my heart, my life, would fill,If the Past's relentless phantoms Call upon me still!