Another day let slip! Its hours have run, Its golden hours, with prodigal excess, All run to waste. A day of life the less; Of many wasted days, alas, but one! Through my west window streams the setting sun. I kneel within my chamber, and confess My sin and sorrow, filled with vain distress, In place of honest joy for work well done. At noon I passed some labourers in a field, The sweat ran down upon each sunburnt face, Which shone like copper in the ardent glow. And one looked up, with envy unconcealed, Beholding my cool cheeks and listless pace, Yet he was happier, though he did not know. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TEARS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE WORD by WILLIAM WALSHAM HOW TO MY GRANDMOTHER; SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE BY MR. ROMNEY by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON PASSER MORTUUS EST by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY KITTY NEIL by JOHN FRANCIS WALLER AN HYMN TO THE EVENING by PHILLIS WHEATLEY DAVIDS ELEGIE UPON JONATHAN by JOSEPH BEAUMONT LEMNISCUS AD COLUMNAM S. SIMEONIS STYLITAE APPENSUS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |