January gray is here, like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, march with grief doth howl and rave, and April weeps -- but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers.
Fate,Time,Occasion,Chance, and Change? To these All things are subject but eternal love.
Life, like a dome of many-coloured glass, Stains the white radiance of eternity.
My father Time is weak and gray With waiting for a better day; See how idiot-like he stands, Fumbling with his palsied hands!
The flood of time is rolling on; We stand upon its brink, whilst they are gone To glide in peace down death's mysterious stream. Have ye done well?
But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart!
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow claspest the limits of mortality.
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