Nor move one jot inexorable death.
Perhaps there is no illustration in our language more impressive than Young’s noble apostrophe, commencing:
The bell strikes one. We take no note of time
But from its loss: to give it, then, a tongue
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,
I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours.
Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.
* * * *
O time! than gold more sacred; more a load