 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
11
A SNAILS' DERBY.
Once, in this Tuscan garden, Noon's huge ball
So slowly crossed the sky above my head,
As I lay idle on my dull wheeled bed,
That, sick of Day's inexorable crawl,
So slowly crossed the sky above my head,
As I lay idle on my dull wheeled bed,
That, sick of Day's inexorable crawl,
I set some snails a-racing on the wall—
With their striped shells upon their backs, instead
Of motley jockeys—black, white, yellow, red;
And watched them till the twilight's tardy fall.
With their striped shells upon their backs, instead
Of motley jockeys—black, white, yellow, red;
And watched them till the twilight's tardy fall.
And such my life, as years go one by one:
A garden where I lie beyond the flowers,
And where the snails outrace the creeping sun.
A garden where I lie beyond the flowers,
And where the snails outrace the creeping sun.
For me there are no pinions to the hours;
Compared with them, the snails like racers run:
Wait but Death's night; and, lo, the great ball lowers.
Compared with them, the snails like racers run:
Wait but Death's night; and, lo, the great ball lowers.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |