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George Gordon Byron - To Time
Work rating: Medium

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