Explore "An Ode to Time" by Ella Wheeler Wilcox on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ho! sportsman Time, whose chargers fleet / The moments, madly driven, / Beat in the dust beneath their feet / Sweet hopes that years have given; / Turn, turn aside those reckless steeds, / Oh! do not urge them my way; / There's nothing that Time wants or needs / In this contented by-way.
You have down-trodden, in your race, / So much that proves your power, / Why not avoid my humble place? / Why rob me of my dower? / With your vast cellars, cavern deep, / Packed tier on tier with treasures, / You would not miss them should I _keep_ / My little store of pleasures.