Page:Landon in The New Monthly 1837.pdf/12

 

A record of the inward world, whose facts Are thoughts—and feelings—fears, and hopes, and dreams. There are some days that might outmeasure years— Days that obliterate the past, and make The future of the colour which they cast. A day may be a destiny; for life Lives in but little—but that little teems With some one chance, the balance of all time: A look—a word—and we are wholly changed. We marvel at ourselves—we would deny That which is working in the hidden soul; But the heart knows and trembles at the truth: On such these records linger.

 

might have been!—these are but common words, And yet they make the sum of life's bewailing; They are the echo of those finer chords, Whose music life deplores when unavailing. We might have been! 