GLIMPSES OF THE PAST

THERE is such power even in smallest things
To bring the dear past back; a flower’s tint,
A snatch of some old song, the fleeting glint
Of sunbeams on the wave— each vivid brings

The lost days up, as from the idle strings
Of wind-harp sad a breeze evokes the hint
Of antique tunes. A glove which keeps imprint
Of a loved hand the heart with torture wrings

By memory of a clasp meant more than speech;
A face seen in the crowd with curve of cheek
Or sweep of eyelash our woe’s core can reach.

How strong is love to yearn, and yet how weak
To strive with fate: the lesson al things teach,
As of the past in myriad ways they speak.

Arlo Bates