Classic Poem

IT has walked beside me long,
With its white lips never speaking;
When it came, my heart was strong—
Now its chords are slowly breaking.
When the daylight dawns or dies;
When the stars set, when they rise;
Wheresoe'er my path may be,
That pale phantom walks with me—
Pointing backward to the Past;
Pointing with unmoving finger
To the Past—
The irrevocable Past.

When I lock and bar the door
Of my chamber, high and lonely,
Where the loved ones come no more,
And my footsteps echo only;
Suddenly a darkness falls
On the floor and on the walls,
And it stands beside my chair,
With a cold, unearthly stare,
Pointing to the buried Past;
Pointing with its bloodless finger
To the Past—
The irrevocable Past.

When I walk the city's street,
Where the tides of life are flowing,
To the measured fall of feet
Ever coming, ever going;
There between me and the light
Walks the spectre, cold and white,
With its stony, staring eyes,
Shutting out the blessed skies.
Pointing to the shadowy Past;
Pointing with its dim, dead finger,
To the Past—
The irrevocable Past.

“Hence!” I said, “and come no more;
I am sorrow-sick and weary.
My heart aches—aches to its core;
All my way is lone and dreary.
Hence, and hide thee from the sun!
Sin can never be undone;
Else had bitter pain and woe
Exorcised thee long ago.”
Still it pointed to the Past;
Pointed from the living Present
To the Past—
The irrevocable Past.