Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE WATCHERS, by ERNEST FAVENC


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE WATCHERS, by                    
First Line: All things were old in that grim grey land
Last Line: Three dead men lay on the ground.
Subject(s): Death; Deserts; Food & Eating; Pain; Time; Dead, The; Suffering; Misery


ALL things were old in that grim grey land,
All things were withered and sere:
There was no one left, save a grisly band
Who fought for their lives with a slackened hand,
For life had ceased to be dear.

Under the curse of a pitiless sun
And the drought of rainless years
They had fallen and slumbered one by one,
Thankful alone that their task was done—
There was no more toil or tears.

'Neath a stunted tree on the rocky crest
Of a ridge of barren stone
They gazed on the arid plain to west
And sighed as they turned from their hopeless quest
And the three stood there alone—

Alone, save for an unseen two,
Who watched the others there:
Gaunt as the desert land to view,
Unwatered by rain, unslaked by dew
They sat there, a ghastly pair.

For one was old, who had never been born,
Although mortal look he bore:
His wings were draggled, his pinions torn,
He carried a scythe that was notched and worn;
And he turned an hour-glass o'er.

But the other had a more ghastly form,
That no man could live and see:
His fleshless bones had never been warm;
He lived in carnage, disease and storm,
And a constant grin wore he.

"Old comrade mine," quoth Time at last,
"How long shall they make their moan?"
Croaked Death, "When the sands have slowly passed
Thrice through thy hour-glass, my dart I'll cast;"
And he sharpened it on a stone.

Time scooped up a handful of heated sand:
"I love this well," cried he.
"When my glass needs filling I seek this land"—
And he poured it out of his wasted hand—
"Oh! the desert sand for me."

Afar in the east a cloud appeared
With the thunder's muttered sound;
Darker it grew as the group it neared.
'Twould come too late, the doomed men feared;
Time turned his hour-glass round.

And ever they watched it as it spread,
And dreamt of the welcome rain,
While the air grew chill 'neath the Storm-sprite's tread
And the sky was murk with a hue of lead—
Time turned his glass again.

Death chuckled and held his dart up first,
Time turned his hour-glass round;
The storm-clouds eddied, and raged, and burst,
But never could slake a dead man's thirst—
Three dead men lay on the ground.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net