  This is my statue: cold and white It stands and takes the morning light! The world may flout my hopes and fears, Yet was my life's work washed with tears Of blood when this poor hand last night Finished the pain of years. Speak for me, patient lips of stone, Blind eyes my lips have rested on So often when the o'er-weary brain Would grope to human love again, And found this grave cold mask alone And the tears fell like rain. Ay; is this all? Is this the brow I fondled, never wondering how It lived—the face of pain and bliss That through the marble met my kiss? Oh, though the whole world praise it now, Let no man dream it is! They blame; they cannot blame aright Who never knew what infinite Deep loss must shame me most of all! They praise; like earth their praises fall Into a tomb. The hour of light Is flown beyond recall. Yet have I seen, yet have I known, And oh, not tombed in cold white stone The dream I lose on earth below; And I shall come with face aglow And find and claim it for my own Before God's throne, I know. |
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