Most read ▸
Dave Bonta
long ear
long eye
open for an hour
I drowse of necessity
I wake for the same
grace of God
O busy clock
the hour I want could finish
and let us be
I dare not reckon myself sure
till I have it in my mind
the rusted table not pretty
my books not neat
the clasp of an hour or two
is brought to a head
(They put back the clocks at two A. M.)
TO-NIGHT, I think each sleepy clock
Will lift a pedant's protest to the skies
From many a town's high tower:
— Tick-tock — tick-tock —
Rude hands presume to put us back —
Tick-tack —
One hour! —
Time will not wait, they say,
Nor sun:
Yet is this vast thing done?
Shall the slow day
Submit, the calm moon cower?
O shadowy wings that lean in flight,
O night!
Before your star-eyed birds are flown.
One by one, one by one,
Stitches of the hours run
Through the fine seams of the day,
Till like a garment it is done
And laid away.
One by one the days go by,
And suns climb up and down the sky;
One by one their seams are run —
As Time's untiring fingers ply
And life is done.