 | The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark |  |
115
YESTERDAY.
And where are now thy sunny hours,
Fond man, which shone but yesterday?
Perchance thy path was rich with flowers,
That glittered in thy joyous way!
Perchance the Day's pure eye of light
Was one interminable smile;
And visions, eloquent and bright,
Stirred thy rapt soul with bliss the while.
Fond man, which shone but yesterday?
Perchance thy path was rich with flowers,
That glittered in thy joyous way!
Perchance the Day's pure eye of light
Was one interminable smile;
And visions, eloquent and bright,
Stirred thy rapt soul with bliss the while.
And where are they?—the swelling tide
Of onward and resistless time
Is strewn with wrecks of baffled pride,
Conceptions high, and hopes sublime;
Dreams, that have shed upon the earth
The gladdening hues of Paradise;
Their charm is flown; hushed is their mirth,
And all their kinding ecstasies!
Of onward and resistless time
Is strewn with wrecks of baffled pride,
Conceptions high, and hopes sublime;
Dreams, that have shed upon the earth
The gladdening hues of Paradise;
Their charm is flown; hushed is their mirth,
And all their kinding ecstasies!
It may be that thy heart was sad
And wrapt in sorrows yesterday!
Perchance the scenes that once could glad
Thy spirit, passed like spring away;
That on the waste of years, was seen
Naught that might cheer thy gloomy breast
No sunny spot, of vernal green,
On which the thoughtful eye could rest.
And wrapt in sorrows yesterday!
Perchance the scenes that once could glad
Thy spirit, passed like spring away;
116
Naught that might cheer thy gloomy breast
No sunny spot, of vernal green,
On which the thoughtful eye could rest.
What recks it now, that then a cloud
Was dimly brooding o'er thy head;
That to the tempest thou hast bowed,
When Joy's ephemeral beams had fled?
That day hath gone—its care is o'er;
Its shadows all have passed away;
Time's wave hath murmured by that shore;
And round thee now is but—to-day.
Was dimly brooding o'er thy head;
That to the tempest thou hast bowed,
When Joy's ephemeral beams had fled?
That day hath gone—its care is o'er;
Its shadows all have passed away;
Time's wave hath murmured by that shore;
And round thee now is but—to-day.
Then what is Yesterday?—a breath,
A whisper of the summer breeze;
A thing of silent birth and death,
Colored by man's fond sympathies!
It had its buds—they all are gone;
Its fears—but they are now no more;
Its hopes—but they were quickly flown:
Its pure delights—and they are o'er!
A whisper of the summer breeze;
A thing of silent birth and death,
Colored by man's fond sympathies!
It had its buds—they all are gone;
Its fears—but they are now no more;
Its hopes—but they were quickly flown:
Its pure delights—and they are o'er!
Look ye not back—save but to glean
From the deep memories of the past,
From the illusions of each scene,
The thought, that time is flying fast;
That vanity on things of Earth
Is by a pointed diamond writ:
Its hours of wild and transient mirth
Are midnight skies by meteors lit!
From the deep memories of the past,
From the illusions of each scene,
The thought, that time is flying fast;
That vanity on things of Earth
Is by a pointed diamond writ:
Its hours of wild and transient mirth
Are midnight skies by meteors lit!
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Oh, what is Yesterday?—a ray
Which burst on Being's troubled wave;
Which passed like a swift thought away
Unto Eternity's wide grave;
A star whose light hath left the sky—
But for a little moment given;
Scarce flickering on the gladdened eye;
Ere it hath left the vault of Heaven!
Which burst on Being's troubled wave;
Which passed like a swift thought away
Unto Eternity's wide grave;
A star whose light hath left the sky—
But for a little moment given;
Scarce flickering on the gladdened eye;
Ere it hath left the vault of Heaven!
To-day!—How in its little span,
The interests of an endless state,
Beyond the feverish life of man,
Are crowded with their awful weight!
Prayers may ascend; the soul may pour
Its trembling supplications here,
That when Time's fitful hour is o'er
Its hopes of heaven may blossom there!
The interests of an endless state,
Beyond the feverish life of man,
Are crowded with their awful weight!
Prayers may ascend; the soul may pour
Its trembling supplications here,
That when Time's fitful hour is o'er
Its hopes of heaven may blossom there!
| The poetical writings of the late Willis Gaylord Clark | |