When life's fair dream has passed away <br />To three score years and ten, <br />Before we turn again to clay <br />The lot of mortal men, <br />'Tis wise a backward eye to cast <br />On life's revolving scene, <br />With calmness to review the past <br />And ask what we have been. <br />The cradle and the mother's breast <br />Have vanish'd from the mind, <br />Of joys the sweetest and the best, <br />Nor left a trace behind. <br />Maternal tenderness and care <br />Were lavished all in vain <br />Of bliss; whatever was our share <br />No vestiges remain. <br />Far distant, like a beacon light <br />On ocean's boundless waste, <br />A single spot appears in sight <br />Yet indistinctly traced. <br />Some mimic stage's thrilling, cry, <br />Some agony of fear, <br />Some painted wonder to the eye, <br />Some trumpet to the ear. <br />These are the first events of life <br />That fasten on the brain, <br />And through the world's incessant strife <br />Indelibly remain. <br />They form the link with ages past <br />From former worlds a gleam; <br />With murky vapors overcast, <br />The net-work of a dream.<br /><br />John Quincy Adams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/retrospection-7/
