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All my past
life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are
kept in store
By memory alone.
What ever is to
come is not,
How can it then be mine?
The present
moment's all my lot,
And that as fast as it is got,
Phyllis, is wholly thine.
Then talk not of
inconstancy,
False hearts, and broken vows,
Ii, by
miracle, can be,
This live-long minute true to thee,
'Tis all that heaven allows.
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