My heart is sick with longing, tho' I feed <br />On hope; Time goes with such a heavy pace <br />That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace, <br />As if he slept—forgetting his old speed: <br />For, as in sunshine only we can read <br />The march of minutes on the dial's face, <br />So in the shadows of this lonely place <br />There is no love, and Time is dead indeed. <br />But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart, <br />Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies, <br />It seems we only meet to tear apart, <br />With aching hands and lingering of eyes. <br />Alas, alas! that we must learn hours' flight <br />By the same light of love that makes them bright!<br /><br />Thomas Hood<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-heart-is-sick-with-longing/
