WHILE the slow clock, as they were miser's gold, Counts and recounts the mornward steps of Time, The darkness thrills with conscience of each crime By Death committed, daily grown more bold. Once more the list of all my wrongs is told, And ghostly hands stretch to me from my prime Helpless farewells, as from an alien clime; For each new loss redoubles all the old. This morn 't was May; the blossoms were astir With southern wind; but now the boughs are bent With snow instead of birds, and all things freeze. How much of all my past is dumb with her, And of my future, too, for with her went Half of that world I ever cared to please! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...STANZAS by GEORGE GORDON BYRON A VOICE PROPHETIC by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 55. ALLAH-AL-MATEEN by EDWIN ARNOLD A LUNCHEON (THOMAS HARDY ENTERTAINS THE PRINCE OF WALES) by HENRY MAXIMILIAN BEERBOHM THE APOSTLE by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER PSALMS 71. PRAYER AND SONG OF THE AGED CHRISTIAN by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |