HOW long they have been passing by my place! As in a frieze antique they trained along. Alternately an Hour and then a Grace, How many vanished of that drifting throng! The first I knew not -- scarce shall know the last; But each has wrought its change as on it passed. Hostile the Hours -- but this how could I know? Each from a secret quiver drew a dart, Frowning or smiling on me, aimed its blow. Ofttimes 'twas long ere I would feel the smart; Although a slow corrosion, working still, Might leave a wasting wound in soul or will. Hostile the Hours, for so Time missioned them; But every Grace aboundingly was kind, And brought a gift, of flower, or sunlit gem, Nepenthe in a glass, or balm to bind And lull the deepest hurt within Time's power -- Almost for this I loved the wounding Hour. The Hours and Graces -- now they grow a dream, A frieze antique the unseen Fates unwind, That into shadow dips or catches gleam. Hostile the Hours, but every Grace is kind -- I doubt not kindest of them all, for me, The Grace that softens the last Hour shall be. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEGY: 3. CHANGE by JOHN DONNE WOMEN'S WAR THOUGHTS by MARY HUNTER AUSTIN NEVERNESS, OR THE ONE SHIP BEACHED ON ONE FAR DISTANT SHORE by MARGARET AVISON THE CYNOTAPH by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM LILIES: 27. THE WAVE-TOSSED VESSEL by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) PORTRAIT IN THE HORIZONTAL by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT THREE PASTORAL ELEGIES: 3 by WILLIAM BASSE |