A tireless servant of old Time it stands, Holding its golden trust in frugal hands; Could we the meaning of its heart-beats tell, Or hear its voicelike to a soft-toned knell As all the sand in each hour-glass was spent, To us it would be more than ornament. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE A WOMAN'S SHORTCOMINGS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING BACON'S EPITAPH, MADE BY HIS MAN by JOHN COTTON (1640-1699) THE CANONIZATION by JOHN DONNE THE AGONY [AGONIE] by GEORGE HERBERT |