The Detroit times., 1916-07-24
Yesterday.
~ DR.. FRANK CRANE
Copyright. 1916. by Frank Crane)


am gone from you forever.
am the last of long procession of
days, streaming behind you. away from
you, pouring into mist and obscurity, and
at last into the ocean of oblivion.
Each of us has his burden, of triumph.
of defeat, of laughter, of bitterness: we
bear our load from you into forgetful-
ness; yet as we go we each leave some
thing in your Inconsistencies.
We fill your souls cellar
depart from you, yet am ever with
you.
Once ! was called Tomorrow. and was
virgin pure; then became your bride and
was named Today; now | am Yesterday
and carry upon me the eternal stain of
your embrace.
/ am one of the leaves of a growing
book. There are many pages before me.
Some day you shall turn us all over and
read us and know what you are.
am pale, for | have no hope. Only
memories.
| am rich. for have wisdom.
| bore you a child, and left him with
you. His name is Experience.
You do not like to look at me. | am
not pretty. | am majestic, fateful, seri-
GUS
You do not love my voice 1t does not
speak to your desires it is cool and even
and full of prudence.
am Yesterday; yet | am the same as
Today and Forever; for AN YOU and
you cannot escape from yourself.
Sometimes | talk with my companions
about you. Some Of US carry the scars
of your cruelty. Some the wretchedness
of your crime. Some the beauty of your
goodness. We do not love you. We do
not hate you. We Judge you.
We have nc comapssion only Today
has that We have no encouragement for
you: only Tomorrow has that.
We stand at the front door of the past
welcoming the single file of days, that
pass through watching Tomorrows be-
coming Todays and then enter among US.
Little by little we suck out your life,
as vampires As you grow. older we abb
serb your thought. You turn TO us more
and more, less and less toward Tomor-
row.
Our SHOWS cumber your back and
whiten your head. Our icy waters put
/ out your passions. Our exhalations dim
your hopes Our many tombstones crowd
1 into your landscape. Our dead loves,
burnt out enthusiasms, shattered dream
houses. dissolved Illusions, move TO you,
surround you.
! Tomorrows come unnoticed. Todays
/ slip by UNDECIDED More and more you
/ become a creature of Yesterdays.
Ours are banquet halls full of wine
soaked tablecloths, broken viands wilted
roses.
Ours are empty churches, where aspira-
/ tions were, where only ghosts are.
Ours are CHASTITY Pompeiian streets,
rich galleons a hundred fathoms deep,
genealogical lists Of sonorous names,
mummies in museums, fragmentary pill
| lars Of battered temples, inscriptions on
bricks of Ninevah, huge stone gates
standing amidst the tropical verdure OF
Yucatan Etruscan wine jars now dry and
empty forever.
Ours are the old credulities. With us
are Wotan, Zeus, Ormuzd, Isis. NiShnu.
From us comes that miasm of inertia
that holds humanity in thrall; from us
comes the strength of war-makers, mon
archs. and all the privileged.
We reach up long, sinewy, gray arms
Of custom and tradition, to choke Today
and impede Tomorrow.
We are the worlds Yesterdays. If you
knew enough to put your feet upon us
YOU might rise rapidly. But when you let
rs ride on your backs we strange and
smother you.
am Yesterday. Learn to look me in
tbe face. to use me, and not to be afraid
on, not YOUR friend. am your judge