Why is it that the hour of the clock
Points to the hour behind, before,
Never the perfect hour whose stroke
My soul heard strike, and waited for?
The hour I heard was mine and yours,
The world's hour struck, but was not ours;
Musi we remain, while time endures,
The adversaries of the hours?
I will put back the clock and wait,
For what is time but haste of breath?
Is it too soon, is it too late?
Will the hour, when it strikes, be Death?
