 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
TIME.
If Time's great wheel, revolving, from it flingsInto th' oblivious Past the dust and dross
And cast-off of the World, as at a loss
How to dispose of such old worn-out things,
Yet in his treasure-house lie offerings
Of untold value, from which he the gloss
Not wears, but heightens and keeps bright for us,
Brushing the dust off with memorial wings.
Yet tho' he takes away he brings no less;
And mighty as the mightiest shall come
In their due course; for Nature lays a stress
And strain upon her, and her procreant womb
Responds with some great birth, when Time doth press,
And Expectation tiptoe stands and dumb.
| Stones from The Quarry | |