Poetry
The New Clock
THE family next door have bought a clock.
A little extra work, a little cash, Has raised for them this small domestic god Who with his golden gonging now will knock Melodious admission for the hours.
Elately they returned, For wisely had they purchased These chronological and kindly powers In shining dusk mahogany encased ; The pound or so, hard earned, Enriches now the household airs With periodic pulsings of pure gold, As each bass chime so mellow Detaches sonorously from waiting throng, And winging from the gong In leisured honeyed flight
Goes droning through the rooms, the hall and stairs,
Each golden note on heels of golden fellow.
The mound of wine-red wood And face of silver shield Not even these can yield The deeper joy of that sweet-humming tongue Gliding the ear so unctuous With beatings slow, punctilious.
Oh, hark ! Surely some secret niche Of sound was rifled for that tone so rich ; And all the grave delight
Of country stillness church-chimed in the night
The household commonplaces Rows among.
No surplus money spent to better good—
A cherub wings-the house with gulden lung, And Time's implacable song is gently Sung.
FRANK LEWIS.
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