A speaker watches time slip away—minutes pulsing past, shadows moving over a clock face. Everything in the weary world seems to be hurrying toward some unknown destination. As daylight fades and the sound of footsteps disappears down darkening paths, the speaker is left in a hush. The key feeling is one of waiting for an answer that never comes: the tomb stays silent. The poem asks, without ever quite saying it, “Where do we go?” That question hangs in the air. The mood is quiet, somber, and a little lonely, shaped by the contrast between all the motion of life and the stillness of death. There is no comfort offered—only the heavy absence of news from those who have died.
Whither? — Summary
Minutes swiftly throb and pass, Shadows cross the dial-glass,
Speeding ever to some call, Weary world and shadows, all.
Down the closing aisles of day, Tramping footsteps die away,
But no tidings thread the gloom, From the hushed and silent tomb.