You false church clock, whose long-drawn chimes Tell me Life moves like some slow snail -- The watch beneath my pillow beats So fast my breath doth almost fail. Your solemn chime, that says I walk Sedately to my grave -- doth lie; I gallop faster to my doom Than any mortal bird can fly -- I gallop like a startled horse, That leaping flames and whirlwinds chase -- Until his eyes have left his head, And stretch beyond his frantic face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ROSE-BUD; TO A YOUNG LADY by WILLIAM BROOME SONNET TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI by DANTE ALIGHIERI ODE TO REMORSE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MAUDLIN'S SONG: 1, FR. MIDSUMMER EVE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY A SIGH FOR KNOCKMANY by WILLIAM CARLETON THE LIFE OF HUBERT: MEMORIES OF A DORSET BOYHOOD IN THE 1730S by THOMAS COLE (1727-1796) |