University of Virginia Library

ODE TO A CLOCK.

Busy tongued intruder, peace!
To alarm my pleasures cease;
Rude announcer of decay,
Thy uncivil lectures stay:
Thou who with thy constant bell
Ring'st of time the passing knell.—
Vain thy moral hint to waste,
When the little hour is past:
Never more to see the light,
Little feather'd fleeting spright!
Yet suppose the hour is flown,
Other hours are tripping on;
Fraught with ev'ry prospect gay,
Gilded with the purple ray.
Who can call these moments waste,
While such wine as this we taste?
Time is only lost to those,
Sunk in indolent repose:
All the time that's lost to me,
Is, when pleasures cease to be;
Whilst I live let me enjoy,
Still let care the grave employ.—
Loose robed pleasures lead the dance,
Drollery with eye askance,
Wit awake the latent smile,
Of the laugh old age beguile.
Why of time's swift flight complain?
Whilst so many flasks we drain,
Whilst we dance, and whilst we sing,
Ply grey tyrant, ply thy wing,
What, if thou deny'st to stay,
And from pleasure fly'st away;
And delight'st to dwell with pain,
Or with sorrow to remain;
Fly O time! nor tarry here,
Since thy tribute is a tear;
I thy stay no more entreat,
Purchased at so dear a rate.—