The clocks arms spin before my eyes,
The sand falls through the glass.
I sit before my main room fire,
And let the hours pass.

The rain upon the window pours,
It patters though the drain.
My clock exclaims the time has come
To join my bed again.

Yet not a stir or move I make,
Perched upon my chair
And though the shadows come and go,
I still keep sitting there.

The sands still spin before my eyes.
The clock-hands through the glass.
I can no longer contemplate
The shadows that they cast.

The wind has blown my candle out
I sit here in the dark
My efforts and my life, I think
Have surely left a mark

A branch by now has broken the pane.
The rain's upon my head.
The clock and sand still fall and spin,
Not caring I am dead.