As mourning, moist shrouds cover faceless hours, And yesterday slips mutely by the mind, One more gear is silently ground off The disintegrating cog of time. Despite precautions, the tottering legs of age Crumble, fastened as they are to earth, Break off their brief disengagement from the soil...
Sketch: Vol. 37
, Article 8.
Available at: http://lib.dr.iastate.edu/sketch/vol37/iss1/8