Retrospect Poem by Martin Farquhar Tupper

How many years are fled,-
How many friends are dead:
Alas, how fast
The past hath past,-
How speedily life hath sped!

Places, that knew me of yore,
Know me for theirs no more;
And sore at the change
Quit strange I range
Where I was at home before.

Thoughts and things each day
Seem to be fading away;
Yet this is, I wot,
Their lot to be not
Continuing in one stay.

A mingled mesh it seems
Of facts and fancy's gleams;
I scarce have power
From hour to hour
To separate things from dreams.

Darkly, as in a glass,
Like a vain shadow they pass,
Their ways they wend
And tend to an end,
The goal of life, alas!

Alas? and wherefore so,-
Be glad for this passing show;
The world and its lust
Back must to their dust
Before the soul can grow.

Expand, my willing mind,
Thy nobler life to find,
Thy childhood leave
Nor grieve to bereave
Thine age of toys behind.