Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
What days awaken with their fleeting time:
Yet if thou wilst but will it, will it so,
That all thy truth were honour'd in one clime.
What is that truth whose worth thou countest such
That all the past and all the future pale
To this the word thou lovest over-much?
Wouldst thou deny thine all that thou art frail?
If for thy gift thou mournest, wilst thou hold
A mocking future higher than thine all,
And all upon thy word, in wisdom told,
Be this too great a burden? Cities fall.
Yet thou mayst measure in thy prophecy
Time's thievish progress to eternity.
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