XXVII.How yesterday is long ago! The pastIs 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 everOut 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 sunOr tricked by new use of our careful dates.This thing Time is, that to the grave-will bearMy heart, sure but of it and of my fear.
How yesterday is long ago! The pastIs 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 everOut 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 sunOr tricked by new use of our careful dates.This thing Time is, that to the grave-will bearMy heart, sure but of it and of my fear.