Why like a mirage, Returns one bright day, Out of the too dear past, With a scarce fading ray?
Not yours to answer why, Yet one fair presence there Unknowing lent it grace, Magic and rapture rare.
Could we but win them back, Fain we'd take time in hand, Days whose remembered light Aureoled sea and land.
Albert O. Barton's «Why Like a Mirage?» starts with a question the speaker can't answer: why does a bright moment from the past suddenly come back, shimmering like a desert illusion? The memory is "too dear," almost painfully so, and its glow refuses to die away. By the second stanza the speaker admits there's no explaining it. But one thing seems clear: a certain "fair presence" once made that time magical, and she, or he, never knew it. The grace was given without anyone realizing.
The last stanza turns to longing. If only those days could be won back, the speaker says, they'd gladly "take time in hand" and hold on to it. The remembered light was so strong it seemed to crown the sea and land with a halo. The mood is wistful and tender, tinged with regret. Nothing dramatic happens, yet the poem captures how a single memory can feel both vivid and out of reach.