<h2><SPAN name="page35"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>THE PAST</h2>
<p class="poetry">Fling my past behind me, like a robe<br/>
Worn threadbare in the seams, and out of date.<br/>
I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep<br/>
And dwell up on its beauty, and its dyes<br/>
Of Oriental splendour, or complain<br/>
That I must needs discard it? I can weave<br/>
Upon the shuttles of the future years<br/>
A fabric far more durable. Subdued,<br/>
It may be, in the blending of its hues,<br/>
Where sombre shades commingle, yet the gleam<br/>
Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through,<br/>
While over all a fadeless lustre lies,<br/>
And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears,<br/>
My new robe shall be richer than the old.</p>
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