Who art thou?

The pale dusk broke, it seemed like a dream,
So distant and in gleam, while those lucid shadows,
Across these walls played those plays to fill empty halls.
And now did I wake, to find myself dreaming,
In this vastful empty space, the life I was living.
The hourglass bottom is at tide, while those winds pass me
Like of barren trees, they glide.
Stop! Come hither! But nobody hears my cry,
And from deepest hell, reminiscence starts:
O, the joyful life, the merit in every sunlight!
And the clouds ‘ere never dark
threw the sorrow in the ground.
For years I was living, walking on adorned fields,
With a smiled face seeking clover’s fourth lief.
And I did! I found it! I picked it, yet I couldn’t keep it.
Time drains everything yet not the child’s markings upon it.
Fourth lief wizzen, so will child in it.
So where did this desert in glass led my pacing?
It seems like I did nothing!
But I must be wrong!
From what are these walls if not of my stone?
Even though my stone can never make walls,
For they are much too weak, for wind’s play to resist,
My stone now seems more like a smoke,
Which makes this ghastly walls.
And on every side of my soul
Stands a carving on a stone:
Who art thou?