Poems (Clark)/My Past
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MY PAST
All yesterday I was carving
A stone for the buried Past,
That should serve as reminder, and token
Of beauties that did not last.
I scarcely paused at my labor,
Unheeding the restless smart,
That I thought was only memory,
Whispering close to my heart.
A stone for the buried Past,
That should serve as reminder, and token
Of beauties that did not last.
I scarcely paused at my labor,
Unheeding the restless smart,
That I thought was only memory,
Whispering close to my heart.
And only when earth and heaven
Were bright with the setting sun,
Did I lay down chisel and hammer,
And feel that my task was done.
All through the night's long stillness,
I watched by my dead Past's grave,
Hearing from Time's deep ocean
The murmur of many a wave.
Were bright with the setting sun,
Did I lay down chisel and hammer,
And feel that my task was done.
All through the night's long stillness,
I watched by my dead Past's grave,
Hearing from Time's deep ocean
The murmur of many a wave.
I counted the hours as they vanished,
And said when the morn should gleam,
I would take up the cross I had chiselled
With many a heart-kept dream;
And place it there as a headstone,
That should tell where my Past was at rest,
Then say one farewell, and departing,
Fold the Present, as friend, to my breast.
And said when the morn should gleam,
I would take up the cross I had chiselled
With many a heart-kept dream;
And place it there as a headstone,
That should tell where my Past was at rest,
Then say one farewell, and departing,
Fold the Present, as friend, to my breast.
But I found my cross with its carvings,
Had its counterpart hid in my heart,
Where memory, copying my labors,
Had cut deep with wearying smart.
So what could I do but to gather
My past once more to my breast,
And deep in my heart's hidden chambers,
Under memory's cross let her rest.
Had its counterpart hid in my heart,
Where memory, copying my labors,
Had cut deep with wearying smart.
So what could I do but to gather
My past once more to my breast,
And deep in my heart's hidden chambers,
Under memory's cross let her rest.
It were better I took her with me,
Than to linger beside her grave;
I had loved her very fondly,
And loved, too, the gifts she gave.
So now I shall keep her with me,—
My dead and beautiful Past;—
And whatever my Present and Future,
She is mine, while life shall last.
Than to linger beside her grave;
I had loved her very fondly,
And loved, too, the gifts she gave.
So now I shall keep her with me,—
My dead and beautiful Past;—
And whatever my Present and Future,
She is mine, while life shall last.