Page:Songs of the Slav.pdf/46



You sigh as backward gazest thou: Ah, after all times then were best. But, my dear friend, be not depressed, You said it then as say you now.

And in that "then" not otherwise, You longed for only what was past. Thus further back you will surmise, Till reach you swaddling clothes at last.

And in those clothes perhaps you'd prate, Couldst thou but speak or meditate, Oh, but times then were better still.

'Tis fate's old witticism ill. So, it may be a better fate When hearts will cease to meditate.