Such was his greed of life and dread of the voidness of the tomb, That he bade us bury a clock with him in the grave's gloom; A clock that would run a year and a day, after his heart stopped. Open the coffin. . . . Look. He listens to it, with lids dropped. Look at his brow. It is so still he will be sure to hear As he turns to dust the strange tick of an unallotted year. He ever wanted more than his share of everything, and so Has taken a year of time with him, after his time to go. Look at his face, so callous and contemptuous of worth, So earthy that it is strange he dreaded at last the still earth. Forgetful of all soul-things he has gone to the soul's clime, And has taken with him only the pale posthumous tick of time. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WHITE NOCTURNE by CONRAD AIKEN VICARIOUS ATONEMENT by RICHARD ALDINGTON ADOLF EICHMANN by HAYDEN CARRUTH NO MATTER WHAT, AFTER ALL, AND THAT BEAUTIFUL WORD SO by HAYDEN CARRUTH SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DIPPOLD THE OPTICIAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |