The hour has struck its advent and farewell, And hark! another hour begins to beat! As when a crier stops, and rings his bell To tell a loss, then on with busy feet To raise the cry elsewhere; our flying hours We waste, and baulk them of their noblest use; And so disable our best gifts and powers, Or leave them open to the fiend's abuse; Or should I - the same moral to convey - A more derisive apologue subjoin, My clock's a mocking thief, who steals my coin, Then, counting up the sum, as if to say, 'How many precious pieces I purloin, One, two, three, four', - trips daintily away. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DARKLING THRUSH by THOMAS HARDY THE SONG OF HIAWATHA: HIAWATHA'S FASTING by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON by ALEXANDER POPE TO THE DAISY (3) by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A DEFIANCE, RETURNING TO THE PLACE OF HIS PAST AMOURS by PHILIP AYRES |