• THE lost days of my life until to-day,
• What were they, could I see them on the
• street
• Lie as they fell? Would they be ears of wheat
• Sown once for food but trodden into clay?
• Or golden coins squandered and still to pay?
• Or drops of blood dabbling the guilty feet?
• Or such spilt water as in dreams must cheat
• The throats of men in hell who thirst alway?
• I do not see them here; but after death
• 10God knows I know the faces I shall see,
• Each one a murdered self, with low last breath.
• “I am thyself,—what hast thou done to me?”
• “And I—and I—thyself,” (lo! each one saith,)
• “And thou thyself to all eternity.”

D. G. Rossetti.