Shelley.
With his scythe and with his wings, our eyes are familiar, as, to the present day, he is never drawn without these accompaniments.
"To one that marks the quick and certain round
Of year on year, and finds that every day
Brings its grey hair, or bears a leaf away
From the full glory with which life is crowned,
Ere youth becomes a shade, and fame a sound:
Surely to one that feels his foot on sand
Unsure, the bright and ever visible hand