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192 POEMS.
��LIII.
A CLOCK stopped not the mantel's ;
- Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing That just now dangled still.
An awe came on the trinket !
The figures hunched with pain, Then quivered out of decimals
Into degreeless noon.
It will not stir for doctors,
This pendulum of snow ; The shopman importunes it,
While cool, concernless No
Nods from the gilded pointers,
Nods from the seconds slim, Decades of arrogance between
The dial life and him.
�� �
