“Time is the present hour, the past is fled;
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any living being rose or set!”
I ask’d old Father Time himself at last;
But in a moment he flew swiftly past:—
His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.
I ask’d a mighty angel, who shall stand
One foot on sea, and one on solid land:
“By Heaven,” he cried, “I swear the mystery’s o’er;