A mighty Hand, from an exhaustless Urn,
Pours forth the never-ending Flood of Years,
Among the nations. How the rushing waves
Bear all before them! On their foremost edge,
And there alone, is Life. The Present there
Tosses and foams, and fills the air with...
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Three years she grew in sun and shower; “Myself will to my darling be |
WHENE’ER with haggard eyes I view [Weeps and pulls out... |
In Ebon Box, when years have flown |
The harm of Years is on him — |
The Months have ends — the Years — a knot — |
The Pile of Years is not so high |