TIME'S MONOTONE

Autumn and Winter,

Summer and Spring —

Hath Time no other song to sing?

Weary we grow of the changeless tune —

June — December,

December — June!

Time, like a bird, hath but one song,

One way to build, like a bird hath he;

Thus hath he built so long, so long,

Thus hath he sung — Ah me!

Time, like a spider, knows, be sure,

One only wile, though he seems so wise:

Death is his web, and Love his lure,

And you and I his flies.

‘ Love!’ he sings

In the morning clear,

‘ Love! Love! Love!’

And you never hear

How, under his breath,

He whispers,‘ Death!

Death! Death!’

Yet Time —‘ tis the strangest thing of all —

Knoweth not the sense of the words he saith;

Eternity taught him his parrot-call

Of‘ Love and Death.’

Year after year doth the old man climb

The mountainous knees of Eternity,

But Eternity telleth nothing to Time —

It may not be.