Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | ||
2.
“Nine o'clock!”—it strikes the hour,
Not the clock of the lofty tower, —
Many a conquering year must go,
Bearing its banner of bloom and blight,
Gathering its spoils of joy and wo,
Ere stands the Church on the Cottage site!
“Nine o'clock—he is not here—
I cannot check this creeping fear,
That thrills my heart at Time's death-tone,
—It strikes so loud when I'm all alone!”
Not the clock of the lofty tower, —
15
Bearing its banner of bloom and blight,
Gathering its spoils of joy and wo,
Ere stands the Church on the Cottage site!
“Nine o'clock—he is not here—
I cannot check this creeping fear,
That thrills my heart at Time's death-tone,
—It strikes so loud when I'm all alone!”
She raised her eyes to the old brass clock,
Whose calm face seemed her fears to mock;
It stood in pride so stiff and tall,
As though it propped the Cottage wall,
And to and fro swung its pendulum ball.
Whose calm face seemed her fears to mock;
It stood in pride so stiff and tall,
As though it propped the Cottage wall,
And to and fro swung its pendulum ball.
Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | ||