Time, at his kindest, hath wild wings to fly with, So eyes that dance are after used to cry with. Would when young lovers meet And not a creature nigh them They might trip up Time's feet, Lay him scytheless on the grass, Clip his wings and break his glass And keep him ever by them, Making of one June brief night Ages and aeons of delight. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE THIRD DAY: SCANDERBERG by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW LA BELLA BONA ROBA by RICHARD LOVELACE THE WATCH OF A SWAN by SARAH MORGAN BRYAN PIATT IN FESTUBERT by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE FUTURE by GEORGE FREDERICK CAMERON BENEDICTION IN PASSING by IRENE CARLISLE FRINGED GENTIAN by ANNE ARNOLD CHASE TO [THE REVEREND] MR. NEWTON ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE by WILLIAM COWPER ON A FOUL [OR, FOULE] MORNING [BEING THEN TO TAKE A JOURNEY] by RICHARD CRASHAW |