Hark to the echo of Time’s footsteps; gone <br />Thise moments are into the unseen grave <br />Of ages. Thy have vanished nameless. None, <br />While they are deep under the eddying wave <br />Of the chaotic past, shall placea stone <br />Sacred to these, the nurses of the brave, <br />The mighty, and the good. Futurity <br />Broods on the ocean, hatching ‘neath her wing <br />Invisible to man the century, <br />That on its hundered feet, a sluggish thing <br />Gnawing away the world, shall totter by <br />And sweep dead mortals with it. As I sing <br /> Time, the colossus of the world, that strides <br /> With each foot plunged in darkness silent glides, <br /> <br /> <br />And puffs death’s cloud upon us. It is vain <br />To struggle with the tide; we all must sink <br />Still grasping the thin air, with frantic pain <br />Grappling with Fame to buoy us. Can we think <br />Eternity, by whom swift Time is slain, <br />And dragged along to dark destruction’s brink, <br />Shall be the echo of man’s puny words? <br />Or that our grovelling thoughts shall e’er be writ <br />In never fading stars; or like proud birds <br />Undazzled in their cloud-built eyrie sit <br />Clutching the lightning, or in darting herds <br />Diving amid the sea’s vast treasury flit? <br /> Sink, painted clay, back to thy parent earth <br /> While the glad spirit seeks a brighter birth.<br /><br />Thomas Lovell Beddoes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-clock-striking-midnight/
