MY heart is sick with longing, tho' I feed On hope; Time goes with such a heavy pace That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace, As if he slept -- forgetting his old speed: For, as in sunshine only we can read The march of minutes on the dial's face, So in the shadows of this lonely place There is no love, and Time is dead indeed. But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart, Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies, It seems we only meet to tear apart, With aching hands and lingering of eyes. Alas, alas! that we must learn hours' flight By the same light of love that makes them bright! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PHONECALL FROM FRANK O'HARA by ANNE WALDMAN PSALM 121 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE TROUBLE IN DE KITCHEN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR PROMETHEUS BOUND: PROMETHEUS IN THE EARTHQUAKE by AESCHYLUS THE ARGONAUTS (ARGONATUICA): MEDEA'S PARTING WORDS by APOLLONIUS RHODIUS BE STILL, MY SOUL by ARCHILOCHUS STANZAS COMPOSED AT CARNAC by MATTHEW ARNOLD PARTY CARD NO. 224332 by ALEXANDR ILYICH BEZYMENSKY THE LAST CRUSADER by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON |