Poems

The Hour

What is the hour of the day?
  O watchman, can you tell?
Hark! from the tower of Time
  Strikes the alarum-bell!

The strokes I cannot count.
  O watchman, can you see
On the misty dial-plate
  What hours remain for me?

I know the rosy dawn
  Faded—how long ago!—
Lost in the radiant depths
  Of morning’s golden glow.

Then all the mountain tops
  Stood breathless at high noon,
While earth for brief repose
  Put off her sandal shoon.

Now faster fly the hours—
  The afternoon is here;
O watchman in the tower,
  Tell me, is sunset near?

Yet—why care I to know?—
  Beyond the sunset bars
Upon the dead day wait
  The brightest of the stars!