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To Time 
George Gordon, Lord Byron 
Occasional Pieces (1816, 28)

Time! on whose arbitrary wing 
The varying hours must flag or fly, 
Whose tardy winter, fleeting spring, 
But drag or drive us on to die- 
Hail thou! who on my birth bestowed 
Those boons, to all that know thee, known; 
Yet better I sustain thy load, 
For now I bear the weight alone. 
I would not one fond heart should share 
The bitter moments thou hast given; 
And pardon thee - since thou couldst spare 
All that I loved, to peace or Heaven. 
To them be joy or rest - on me 
Thy future ills shall press in vain; 
I nothing owe but years to thee, 
A debt already paid in pain. 
Yet even that pain was some relief; 
It felt, but still forgot thy power: 
The active agony of grief 
Retards, but never counts the hour. 
In joy I've sighed to think thy flight 
Would soon subside from swift to slow; 
Thy cloud could overcast the light, 
But could not add a night to Woe; 
For then, however drear and dark, 
My soul was suited to thy sky; 
One star alone shot forth a spark 
To prove thee - not Eternity. 
That beam hath sunk - and now thou art 
A blank - a thing to count and curse 
Through each dull tedious trifling part, 
Which all regret, yet all rehearse. 
One scene even thou canst not deform -
The limit of thy sloth or speed 
When future wanderers bear the storm 
Which we shall sleep too sound to heed. 
And I can smile to think how weak 
Thine efforts shortly shall be shown, 
When all the vengeance thou canst wreak 
Must fall upon- a nameless stone.