“The Passing of the Hours”

 

The hours steal by with still, unasking lips― 

So lightly that I cannot hear their tread; 

And softly touch me with their finger-tips 

To find if I be dreaming, or be dead. 

And yet however still their flight may be, 

Their ceaseless going weights my heart with tears; 

These touches will have wrought deep scars on me― 

When the light hours have worn to heavy years. 

 

“The Passing of the Hours” as it appears in Higginson’s When the Birds Go North Again (1898).

 

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