Explore "The Hand of Time" by Oliver Herford on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
She dreams beneath lamplight pale, / Like Beauty in the fairy-tale / Of Messrs. Grimm.
And as I gaze, behold, a Thing, / A shape, a face white, menacing, / Hangs o'er her 'mid a ghostly ring / Of figures dim.
Now o'er the figures dark I see / A hand which moves relentlessly, / Remorseless, black.
The hand of Time -- and through me flit / The Solemn words by Omar writ, / "Not all your piety nor wit / Can lure it back."
She sighs, she stirs, her lids unclose / Like petals of a pearly rose / After the rain.
And as she notes, with startled eye, / The Station Clock, I hear her cry, / "It's twenty minutes past -- oh, my! / I've missed my train. "