Oliver Wendell Holmes - Departed Days

Yes, dear departed, cherished days, <br />Could Memory’s hand restore <br />Your morning light, your evening rays, <br />From Time’s gray urn once more, <br />Then might this restless heart be still, <br />This straining eye might close, <br />And Hope her fainting pinions fold, <br />While the fair phantoms rose. <br /> <br />But, like a child in ocean’s arms, <br />We strive against the stream, <br />Each moment farther from the shore <br />Where life’s young fountains gleam; <br />Each moment fainter wave the fields, <br />And wider rolls the sea; <br />The mist grows dark,—­the sun goes down,—­ <br />Day breaks,—­and where are we?<br /><br />Oliver Wendell Holmes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/departed-days/