All My Past Life... by John Wilmot

All my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone,
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.

What ever 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 wholly thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy,
False hearts, and broken vows,
Ii, by miracle, can be,
This live-long minute true to thee,
'Tis all that heaven allows.

by John Wilmot

Other poems by 'John Wilmot'

By All Love's Soft, Yet Mighty Powers

The Imperfect Enjoyment

An Allusion to Horace

A Song Of A Young Lady To Her Ancient Lover

The Disabled Debauchee

Signior Dildo

I Cannot Change, As Others Do

Poems to Mulgrave and Scroope

A Ramble in St. James's Park

Constancy

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