The Past
Ralph Waldo Emerson
1803 to 1882
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The debt is paid,
The verdict said,
The Furies laid,
The plague is stayed.
All fortunes made;
Turn the and bolt the door,
Sweet is death forevermore.
Nor hope, nor swart chagrin,
Nor murdering hate, can enter in.
All is now secure and fast;
Not the gods shake the Past;
Flies-to the adamantine door
Bolted down forevermore.
None can reënter there,—
No thief so politic,
Satan with a royal trick
Steal in by window, chink, or hole,
To bind or unbind, add what lacked,
a leaf, or forge a name,
New-face or finish is packed,
Alter or mend eternal Fact.
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