Slowly the hour-hand of the clock moves round; So slowly that no human eye hath power To see it move! Slowly in shine or shower The painted ship above it, homeward bound, Sails, but seems motionless, as if aground; Yet both arrive at last; and in his tower The slumberous watchman wakes and strikes the hour, A mellow, measured, melancholy sound. Midnight! the outpost of advancing day! The frontier town and citadel of night! The watershed of Time, from which the streams Of Yesterday and To-morrow take their way, One to the land of promise and of light, One to the land of darkness and of dreams! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WAR IS KIND: 21 by STEPHEN CRANE PENISKEE by THOMAS GOLD APPLETON THE HEATH-COCK by JOANNA BAILLIE DEAD IN HIS BED by ADDIE LUCIA BALLOU TWELVE SONNETS: 12. AFTER BATTLE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |