Time! on whose arbitrary wing <br />The varying hours must flag or fly, <br />Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, <br />But drag or drive us on to die--- <br />Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed <br />Those boons to all that know thee known; <br />Yet better I sustain thy load, <br />For now I bear the weight alone. <br />I would not one fond heart should share <br />The bitter moments thou hast given; <br />And pardon thee---since thou couldst spare <br />All that I loved, to peace or Heaven. <br />To them be joy or rest---on me <br />Thy future ills shall press in vain; <br />I nothing owe but years to thee, <br />A debt already paid in pain. <br />Yet even that pain was some relief; <br />It felt, but still forgot thy power: <br />The active agony of grief <br />Retards, but never counts the hour. <br />In joy I've sighed to think thy flight <br />Would soon subside from swift to slow; <br />Thy cloud could overcast the light, <br />But could not add a night to Woe; <br />For then, however drear and dark, <br />My soul was suited to thy sky; <br />One star alone shot forth a spark <br />To prove thee---not Eternity. <br />That beam hath sunk---and now thou art <br />A blank---a thing to count and curse <br />Through each dull tedious trifling part, <br />Which all regret, yet all rehearse. <br />One scene even thou canst not deform--- <br />The limit of thy sloth or speed <br />When future wanderers bear the storm <br />Which we shall sleep too sound to heed. <br />And I can smile to think how weak <br />Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, <br />When all the vengeance thou canst wreak <br />Must fall upon---a nameless stone.<br /><br />George Gordon Byron<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-time/
