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THE WATCHTwice I consult my watch, and yetEach time my absentminded eyeFinds the hands motionless, still setAt one o'clock—though an hour's gone by.Next door the drawing-room clock presentsA countenance that blandly mocks inMine as its silver bell accentsTwo gong-strokes vibrant as a tocsin.Derisively the sun-dialExtends a finger like a lathTo indicate upon the wallIts lengthening shadow's shifting path.The church-tower states the correct timeWith irony; and the belfry too.Pondering its redoubled chime.Makes game of me—or seems to do.This silly Htde tick—that's it!—Is lifeless. Yesterday, my soulAdrift in dreams, I failed to fitThe gold key in its jewelled hole.No more the opened case can showThe balance-wheel's exquisite springTwitching—^left, right—its to-and-froLike a steel butterfly fluttering.Just like me! When on HippogriffI ride to dreamland's skyey blue.My vacant body goes skew-whiffAnd God knows where it wanders to.Round this dumb face EternityCeaselessly orbits; and with earPressed to the cover anxiously.Time seeks the heart that once beat here.That heart—^which infant innocenceBelieves alive, and whose pulsationsAgainst our breast find due responseOf steady, comradelike vibrations—Is stilled; but in my bosom itsBig brother ticks life's seconds round.Nothing can distract His witsWho wound it up while I slept sound!WESTERLY, No. 1 of 1967 37