The silence that had fallen stark between us, After the heat and flame of hostile words, Was broken by the striking of the clock: One-two -- eleven strokes it made. The slave of custom, I arose to wind it. Then, a wonder! I was aware of Time's vast cycle flowing Endlessly, endlessly, through the vibrant night. My hand upon the clock face seemed to catch And hold this fateful moment of our quarrel. There it hung poised between gold yesterdays And black tomorrows, poisoned, evil thing, To keep or cast away. With haste, as one in fear, I seized the key, Turned, turned -- and felt the willing wheels respond. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 21 by OMAR KHAYYAM THE SWAN SONG OF PARSON AVERY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE FOUNTAIN OF PITY by HENRY BATAILLE THE MODERN TIPPLING PHILOSOPHERS by JAMES HAY BEATTIE A SPRING SONG by MATHILDE BLIND SIDNEY'S ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: CANTO SECUNDO. LOVE'S PILGRIMS by THOMAS CAMPION |