Sonnet CCCVIII: Love Sat at Ease Upon Time’s Bony Knee;
Love sat at ease upon Time’s bony knee;
Pulled his grey beard; paddled his finger-tips
Among his wrinkles; smote his bloodIess lips;
With rosy palms, forbade his eyes to see;
O’erturned his fatal hour-glass; wantonly
Pulled his scythe-edge against that dart which rips
The heart of adamant; cast gibes and quips
Straight in his teeth, out-mocking mockery.
What said the phantom? Nought; he only smiled
To be thus toyed with; held his wasting breath,
Lest he might do some damage to the child;
Till Love, grown weary of that pastime, saith,
‘This is too tame; my heart with joy is wild;
Come, Father, come! Let us go play with Death!’
