Time, bring back my lord to me:

Haste, haste! Lov'st not good company?

Here's but a heart-break sandy waste

'Twixt this and thee. 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 soundeth far 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, 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.

SIDNEY LANIER.