Time's Monotone

Autumn and Winter,             Summer and Spring -     Hath Time no other song to sing?     Weary we grow of the changeless tune -             June - December,             December - June!     Time, like a bird, hath but one song,         One way to build, like a bird hath he;     Thus hath he built so long, so long,         Thus hath he sung - Ah me!     Time, like a spider, knows, be sure,         One only wile, though he seems so wise:     Death is his web, and Love his lure,         And you and I his flies.                 'Love!' he sings             In the morning clear,                 'Love! Love! Love!'             And you never hear             How, under his breath,             He whispers, 'Death!             Death! Death!'     Yet Time - 'tis the strangest thing of all -         Knoweth not the sense of the words he saith;     Eternity taught him his parrot-call         Of 'Love and Death.'     Year after year doth the old man climb         The mountainous knees of Eternity,     But Eternity telleth nothing to Time -         It may not be.