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.