The ever-frowning present is its image.
Coleridge.
Who bears no trace of passion’s evil force?
Who shuns thy sting, O, terrible Remorse?—
Who does not cast
On the thronged pages of his memory’s book,
At times, a sad, and half-reluctant look,
Regretful of the Past?
J. G. Whittier.
Full many a mighty name