Was, Is, And Yet-To-Be

Was, Is, and Yet-to-Be     Were chatting over a cup of tea.     In tarnished finery smelling of must,     Was talked of people long turned to dust;     Of titles and honours and high estate,     All forgotten or out of date;     Of wonderful feasts in the long ago,     Of pride that perished with nothing to show.     "I loathe the present," said Was, with a groan;     "I live in pleasures that I HAVE known."     The Yet-to-be, in a gown of gauze,     Looked over the head of musty Was,     And gazed far off into misty space     With a wrapt expression upon her face.     "Such wonderful pleasures are coming to me,     Such glory, such honour," said Yet-to-be.     "No one dreamed, in the vast Has-Been,     Of such successes as I shall win.     "The past, the present -why, what are they?     I live for the joy of a future day."     Then practical Is, in a fresh print dress,     Spoke up with a laugh, "I must confess     "I find to-day so pleasant," she said,     "I never look back, and seldom ahead.     "Whatever has been, is a finished sum;     Whatever will be -why, let it come.     "To-day is mine.    And so, you see,     I have the past and the yet-to-be;     "For to-day is the future of yesterday,     And the past of to-morrow.    I live while I may,     "And I think the secret of pleasure is this.     And this alone," said practical Is.