Poems (Clark)/My Past

by Annie Maria Lawrence Clark

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.