Pilgrim: Aged man, that mowes these fields. Time: Pilgrim, speak; what is thy will? Pilgrim: Whose soil is this, that such sweet pasture yields? Or who art thou, whose foot stands never still? Or where am I? Time: In love. Pilgrim: His Lordship lies above. Time: Yes, and below, and round about Wherein all sorts of flowers are growing Which, as the early Spring puts out, Time falls as fast a-mowing. Pilgrim: If thou art Time, these flowers have lives, And then I fear Under some lily she I love May now be growing there. Time: And in some thistle or some spire of grass My scythe thy stalk before hers come may pass. Pilgrim: Wilt thou provide it may? Time: No. Pilgrim: Allege the cause. Time: Because Time cannot alter but obey Fate's laws. Chorus: Then happy those whom Fate, that is the stronger, Together twists their threads, and yet draws hers the longer. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LIGHT [AND LOVE] by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON THE CHRONICLE; A BALLAD by ABRAHAM COWLEY MY AIN COUNTRIE by MARY LEE DEMAREST RELIEVING GUARD by FRANCIS BRET HARTE PARADISI GLORIA by THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS |