Poetry Archives

Time, hurry my Love to me:
Haste, haste!  Lov’st not good company?
 Here’s but a heart-break sandy waste
 ‘Twixt Now and Then.  Why, killing haste
Were best, dear Time, for thee, for thee!

Oh, would that I might divine
Thy name beyond the zodiac sign
 Wherefrom our times-to-come descend.
 He called thee ‘Sometime’.  Change it, friend:
‘Now-time’ sounds so much more fine!

Sweet Sometime, fly fast to me:
Poor Now-time sits in the Lonesome-tree
 And broods as gray as any dove,
 And calls, ‘When wilt thou come, O Love?’
And pleads across the waste to thee.

Good Moment, that giv’st him me,
Wast ever in love?  Maybe, maybe
 Thou’lt be this heavenly velvet time
 When Day and Night as rhyme and rhyme
Set lip to lip dusk-modestly;

Or haply some noon afar,
—O life’s top bud, mixt rose and star,
 How ever can thine utmost sweet
 Be star-consummate, rose-complete,
Till thy rich reds full opened are?

Well, be it dusk-time or noon-time,
I ask but one small boon, Time:
 Come thou in night, come thou in day,
 I care not, I care not:  have thine own way,
But only, but only, come soon, Time.


Baltimore, 1875.