Sonnet Xii: Poem by George Henry Boker

XII

Why sing forever in this mournful way,
Vexing the future for my hidden lot?
Are today's joys unvalued and forgot,
While the red print of kindling kisses stay
Yet on my lips, and through my pulses play
The uncooled currents which our contact shot
Through every vein? O pardon! I am not
Dull nor ungrateful to this blissful day.
I clasp its bounties in a close embrace.
But still my dark prophetic soul will gaze
With searching eyes upon the coming days,
And though I hold the present's gift a grace
Above my due, my anxious hand I raise
To tear the visor from the future's face.