Here you will find the Poem The Past of poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I fling the past behind me, like a robe Worn threadbare at the seams, and out of date. I have outgrown it. Wherefore should I weep And dwell upon its beauty, and its dyes Of oriental splendor, or complain That I must needs discard it? I can weave Upon the shuttles of the future years A fabric far more durable. Subdued, It may be, in the blending of its hues, Where somber shades commingle, yet the gleam Of golden warp shall shoot it through and through, While over all a fadeless luster lies, And starred with gems made out of crystalled tears, My new robe shall be richer than the old.