"I like London," he said
On that day we met
All those years later.
'Twas my birthday
And I thought there
Was a time when I
Loved London too,
Much more than you
Or anyone I knew
Could construe.
But that London
Is long gone —
That London is now
A ghost of yesterday.
"I like London," he said.
My response was swift,
And fixed in its view —
"London, my dear friend,
Is dead."
Like the ghost of a dear friend dead
ReplyDeleteIs Time long past.
A tone which is now forever fled,
A hope which is now forever past,
A love so sweet it could not last,
Was Time long past.
There were sweet dreams in the night
Of Time long past:
And, was it sadness or delight,
Each day a shadow onward cast
Which made us wish it yet might last —
That Time long past.
There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
'Tis like a child's belovèd corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.
— Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792–1822)