Thou who art dreary With a cureless woe, Thou who art weary Of all things below, Thou who art weeping By the loved sick-bed, Thou who art keeping Watches o'er the dead, Hope, hope! old Time flies fast upon his way, And soon will cease the night, and soon will dawn the day. The rose blooms brightly, But it fades ere night; And youth flies lightly, Yet how sure its flight! And still the river Merges in the sea, And death reigns ever Whilst old Time shall be; Yet hope! old Time flies fast upon his way, And soon will cease the night, and soon will dawn the day. All we most cherish In this world below, What tho' it perish? It has aye been so. So thro' all ages It has ever been To fools and sages, Noble men and mean: Yet hope, still hope! for Time flies on his way, And soon will end the night, and soon will dawn the day. All of each nation Shall that morning see With exultation Or with misery: From watery slumbers, From the opening sod, Shall rise up numbers To be judged by God. Then hope and fear, for Time speeds on his way, And soon must end the night, and soon must dawn the day. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THOMAS MOORE (1) by GEORGE GORDON BYRON UPON THE DEATH OF THE LORD HASTINGS by JOHN DRYDEN WHEN DEY 'LISTED COLORED SOLDIERS by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE ADMIRER by CLAUDIA EMERSON HIS REQUEST TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK THREE FRIENDS OF MINE: 5; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |