Time, thou art the greatest runner of them all; No beads of sweat stand out upon thy brow. No sign of great exertionno muscles ridge thy throat, No look of pain upon thy face, somehow. But, ah! It is thy spectators who suffer, your audience You wear them out, they can not stand the strain; They've watched you long, and with such great expectancy; Then vanished without knowing of your fame. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ANGLER'S WISH by IZAAK WALTON I WOULD BE THE SUN by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 34. AL-'AZIZ by EDWIN ARNOLD MAIDEN'S CHOICE by CAROLYN M. BARBER MEASUREMENTS by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON THE SLEEPING BEAUTY by MATHILDE BLIND HYMN FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF HARTFORD AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |