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The Paradox of Time


By Henry Austin Dobson



 

Time goes, you say? Ah no!
Alas, Time stays, we go;
Or else, were this not so,
What need to chain the hours,
For Youth were always ours?
Time goes, you say?- ah no!

Ours is the eyes' deceit
Of men whose flying feet
Lead through some landscape low;
We pass, and think we see
The earth's fixed surface flee:-
Alas, Time stays,- we go!

Once in the days of old,
Your locks were curling gold,
And mine had shamed the crow.
Now, in the self-same stage,
We've reached the silver age;
Time goes, you say?- ah no!

Once, when my voice was strong,
I filled the woods with song
To praise your "rose" and "snow";
My bird, that sang, is dead;
Where are your roses fled?
Alas, Time stays,- we go!

See, in what traversed ways,
What backward Fate delays
The hopes we used to know;
Where are our old desires?-
Ah, where those vanished fires?
Time goes, you say?- ah no!

How far, how far, O Sweet,
The past behind our feet
Lies in the even-glow!
Now, on the forward way,
Let us fold hands, and pray;
Alas, Time stays,- we go!


 

Henry Austin Dobson (1840-1921) was born in Plymouth, England, the son of a civil engineer. At the age of 16 he entered the Board of Trade to begin a career in the Civil Service that would eventually see him rise to the level of Principal in the Harbour Department, before retiring at the age of 61 in 1901. He married Frances Mary at the age of twenty-eight; having started to write properly at about the age of twenty-four. His first volume of work entitled 'The Prodigals' appeared in 1876, with a second in 1877; and a steady stream of work until his death.


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