Old-fashioned uncouth measurer of the day, I love to watch thy filtering burden pass; Though some there are that live would bid thee stay; But these view reasons through a different glass From him, Time's meter, who addresses thee. The world has joys which they may deem as such; The world has wealth to season vanity, And wealth is theirs to make their vainness much: But small to do with joys and Fortune's fee Hath he, Time's chronicler, who welcomes thee. So jog thou on, through hours of doomed distress; So haste thou on the glimpse of hopes to come; As every sand-grain counts a trouble less, As every drained glass leaves me nearer home. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LORD ALCOHOL; SONG by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE BROWN THRUSH by LUCY LARCOM THE COUNTRY CLERGYMAN'S TRIP TO CAMBRIDGE; ELECTION BALLAD by THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THAT GENERAL UTILITY RAG, BY OUR OWN IRVING BERLIN by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS GROWING OLD by KARLE WILSON BAKER AFFINITIES by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE |