Once, in this Tuscan garden, Noon's huge ball So slowly crossed the sky above my head, As I lay idle on my dull wheeled bed, That, sick of Day's inexorable crawl, I set some snails a-racing on the wall -- With their striped shells upon their backs, instead Of motley jockeys -- black, white, yellow, red; And watched them till the twilight's tardy fall. And such my life, as years go one by one: A garden where I lie beyond the flowers, And where the snails outrace the creeping sun. For me there are no pinions to the hours; Compared with them, the snails like racers run: Wait but Death's night; and, lo, the great ball lowers. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TWO OLD BACHELORS by EDWARD LEAR WHEN I BUY PICTURES by MARIANNE MOORE SONNET: 65 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE IN AND OUT OF CHURCH by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON SONG OF THE SEA ROVER by GAMALIEL BRADFORD RANCH WOMAN by MARGARET CARROLL BRADY |