Classic Poem

" Time stands still
With gazing on her face,"
Sang Dowland to his lute,
Full of courtly grace.

Now that his musician's face
And her face are dust,
Still I cry, Stand still;
Still cry I must.

Stand still, Time;
Hold, hold your pace;
Stiller stand than the smile
On Pharaoh's face.

Stiller than December's frost
That takes the heart with wonder,
Or the pause that comes between
Lightning and thunder.

Time, stand still;
Hush now your tread,
Stand, stiller than a room
Where lie the sheeted dead.

Where, in the busy noon,
None comes and goes;
Where the tree of endless peace
To the ceiling grows.

O Time, Time,
Stark and full of pain,
Why drag me into space,
A dog upon a chain?

I who would float with you,
A ship sailing white,
Who cannot tell which power is hers,
Or which the wind's delight.

So my refreshed soul
Time would adore,
If for one moment's space
Time were no more.

Now with Dowland's broken lute
And his forgotten rhyme,
Still I cry, Stand still,
Stand still, Time.