<h2><SPAN name="page98"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>WAS, IS, AND YET-TO-BE</h2>
<p class="poetry">Was, Is, and Yet-to-Be<br/>
Were chatting over a cup of tea.</p>
<p class="poetry">In tarnished finery smelling of must,<br/>
Was talked of people long turned to dust;</p>
<p class="poetry">Of titles and honours and high estate,<br/>
All forgotten or out of date;</p>
<p class="poetry">Of wonderful feasts in the long ago,<br/>
Of pride that perished with nothing to show.</p>
<p class="poetry">“I loathe the present,” said Was,
with a groan;<br/>
“I live in pleasures that I <i>have</i> known.”</p>
<p class="poetry">The Yet-to-be, in a gown of gauze,<br/>
Looked over the head of musty Was,</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page99"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
99</span>And gazed far off into misty space<br/>
With a wrapt expression upon her face.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Such wonderful pleasures are coming to
me,<br/>
Such glory, such honour,” said Yet-to-be.</p>
<p class="poetry">“No one dreamed, in the vast Has-Been,<br/>
Of such successes as I shall win.</p>
<p class="poetry">“The past, the present—why, what
are they?<br/>
I live for the joy of a future day.”</p>
<p class="poetry">Then practical Is, in a fresh print dress,<br/>
Spoke up with a laugh, “I must confess</p>
<p class="poetry">“I find to-day so pleasant,” she
said,<br/>
“I never look back, and seldom ahead.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Whatever has been, is a finished sum;<br/>
Whatever will be—why, let it come.</p>
<p class="poetry">“To-day is mine. And so, you
see,<br/>
I have the past and the yet-to-be;</p>
<p class="poetry">“For to-day is the future of
yesterday,<br/>
And the past of to-morrow. I live while I may,</p>
<p class="poetry">“And I think the secret of pleasure is
this.<br/>
And this alone,” said practical Is.</p>
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