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?
Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow claspest the limits of mortality.
But I am chained to Time, and cannot thence depart!
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