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 honors 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All forgotten or out of date;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 Loath the present,& said Was, with a groan,
"II live in pleasures that I have know"

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 honor," 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 glory of a future day."

Then practical Is, in a fresh print dress,
Spoke up with a laugh, "I must confess

"I find today 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.

Today is mine. And so you see
I have the past and the yet to be;

For today is the future of yesterday,
And the past of tomorrow. I live while I may,

And I think the secret of pleasure is this,
And this alone," said practical Is.