On Time Poem by John Milton

On Time

Rating: 2.9


Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast intombed,
And last of all thy greedy self consumed,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss,
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood;
When every thing that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With truth, and peace, and love, shall ever shine
About the supreme throne
Of Him, t' whose happy-making sight alone
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb,
Then, all this earthly grossness quit,
Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Dharmendra Gauttam 04 July 2018

Explain in hindi

0 0 Reply
Richard 10 January 2018

Nice poem, I liked the words. Harry potter can relate

2 0 Reply
Ratnakar Mandlik 04 November 2016

Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit, Triumphing over death, and chance, and thee, O Time. Great conceptualization. Thanks for sharing it here.

1 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
John Milton

John Milton

London, England
Close
Error Success