The lost days of my life until to-day, <br />What were they, could I see them on the street <br />Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat <br />Sown once for food but trodden into clay? <br />Or golden coins squandered and still to pay? <br />Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet? <br />Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat <br />The undying throats of Hell, athirst alway? <br />I do not see them here; but after death <br />God knows I know the faces I shall see, <br />Each one a murdered self, with low last breath. <br />“I am thyself,—what hast thou done to me?” <br />“And I—and I—thyself,” (lo! each one saith,) <br />“And thou thyself to all eternity!”<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxxvi-lost-days/
