'Let bygones be bygones,'-- they foolishly say,
And bid me be wise and forget them;
But old recollections are active to-day,
And I can do nought but regret them:
Though the present be pleasant, all joyous and gay,
And promising well for the morrow,
I love to look back on the years past away,
Embalming my bygones in sorrow.

If the morning of life has a mantle of grey,
Its noon will be blither and brighter,
If March has its storm, there is sunshine in May,
And light out of darkness is lighter:
Thus the present is pleasant, a cheerful to-day,
With a wiser, a soberer gladness,
Because it is tinged with the mellowing ray
Of a yesterday's sunset of sadness.