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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384663" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Past</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=384663" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I fling the past behind me, like a robe <br>Worn threadbare at the seams, and out of date. <br>I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep <br>And dwell upon its beauty, and its dyes <br>Of oriental splendor, or complain <br>That I must needs discard it? I can weave <br>Upon the shuttles of the future years <br>A fabric far more durable. Subdued, <br>It may be, in the blending of its hues, <br>Where somber shades commingle, yet the gleam <br>Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through, <br>While over all a fadeless luster lies, <br>And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears, <br>My new robe shall be richer than the old.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a></strong></div>

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