How yesterday is long ago! The past
is a fixed infinite distance from to-day,
And bygone things, the first-lived as the last,
in irreparable sameness far away.
How the to-be is infinitely ever
out of the place wherein it will be Now,
Like the seen wave yet far up in the river,
which reaches not us, but the new-waved flow!
This thing Time is, whose being is having none,
the equable tyrant of our different fates,
Who could not be bought off by a shattered sun
or tricked by new use of our careful dates.
This thing Time is, that to the grave-will bear
my heart, sure but of it and of my fear.

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