Edith Matilda Thomas
The Blessed Present - Poem by Edith Matilda Thomas
Pluck me yon rose, but say not, '‘T will not last!'
Or that 'To-morrow’s rose may be more sweet.'
Say not, the darling bird I hear, will fleet
When its green summer home yields to the blast.
This moment, freed from Fear, that shrank aghast—
From Hope, that ran on wing'd, mercurial feet,
I, Sovereign of the Present, hold my seat!
All smile on me, and smiles on all I cast.
Oh, hitherto, my love, I have been thrall
To the old Past, dim ringing with regret;
Or else, uncertain days of bliss to be
Made me all restless with their veering call:
But thou bestowest wealth I ne'er had yet—
The blessed Present thou dost bring to me!
Comments about The Blessed Present by Edith Matilda Thomas
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You