TO A POMPADOUR CLOCK.
Bright loves and tangled flowers
Adorn your china face;
You beat out silver hours
Within your golden case.
Still rings old Time's denial
Of respite in your tone,
But o'er your painted dial
Is built a little throne—
A throne so neat and narrow
Where, heedless of your chime,
Poising his gilded arrow
Sits Cupid killing Time!