Poetry and Lyrics

Departed Days

By: Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894)

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

PS: This poem was written by Oliver Wendell Holmes in 1892. His poetry was made up of short but beautiful poems, humor, and wit and most notably of high class. I found it from the internet.
I think that all people have their own memories which aren’t forgotten ever. They create it only themselves. Every memory is different from others but the result is same. Oliver Wendell Holmes tried to describe the people’s life and its memories. It explained to me “when we die, memories will be left”.