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All my past
life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams giv'n o'er,
Whose images are
kept in store
By memory alone.
The time that
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 only thine.
Then talk not
of inconstancy,
False hearts, and broken vows;
If
I, by miracle, can be
This live-long minute true to
thee,
'Tis all that Heav'n allows.
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