You false church clock, whose long-drawn chimes Tell me Life moves like some slow snail -- The watch beneath my pillow beats So fast my breath doth almost fail. Your solemn chime, that says I walk Sedately to my grave -- doth lie; I gallop faster to my doom Than any mortal bird can fly -- I gallop like a startled horse, That leaping flames and whirlwinds chase -- Until his eyes have left his head, And stretch beyond his frantic face. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 50 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT BATTLE OF THE BALTIC by THOMAS CAMPBELL MILK FOR THE CAT by HAROLD MONRO EDEN BOWER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI ALL THINGS CAN TEMPT ME by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS A COWBOY ALONE WITH HIS CONSCIENCE by JAMES BARTON ADAMS HITOPADESA: DEDICATION by EDWIN ARNOLD |