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My birthday-yesterday,
Its hours were twenty-four;
Four hours I lived lukewarm,
And killed a score.
Eight bells and then I woke,
Came to our fire below,
Then sat four hours and watched
Its sullen glow.
Then out four hours I walked,
The lukewarm four I live,
And felt no other joy
Than air can give.
My mind durst know no thought,
It knew my life too well:
'Twas hell before, behind,
And round me hell.
Back to that fire again,
Six hours I watch it now,
And take to bed dim eyes
And fever's brow.
Ten hours I give to sleep,
More than my need, I know;
But I escape my mind
And that fire's glow.
For listen: it is death
To watch that fire's glow;
For, as it bums more red
Men paler grow.
O better in foul room
That's warm, make life away,
Than homeless out of doors,
Cold night and day.
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Pile on the coke, make fire,
Rouse its death-dealing glow;
Men are borne dead away
Ere they can know.
I lie; I cannot watch
Its glare from hour to hour;
It makes one sleep, to wake
Out of my power.
I close my eyes and swear
It shall not wield its power;
No use, I wake to find
A murdered hour
Lying between us there!
That fire drowsed me deep,
And I wrought murder's deed-
Did it in sleep.
I count us, thirty men,
Huddled from Winter's blow,
Helpless to move away
From that fire's glow.
So goes my life each day-
Its hours are twenty-four-
Four hours I live lukewarm,
And kill a score.
No man lives life so wise
But unto Time he throws
Morsels to hunger for
At his life's close.
Were all such morsels heaped-
Time greedily devours,
When man sits still-he'd mourn
So few wise hours. |