Poem by Archibald Lampman

An Impression

I heard the city time-bells call
  Far off in hollow towers,
And one by one with measured fall
  Count out the old dead hours;

I felt the march, the silent press
  Of time, and held my breath;
I saw the haggard dreadfulness
  Of dim old age and death.

1. Freedom
2. Among the Timothy
3. Why Do Ye Call the Poet Lonely
4. Heat
5. Spring on the River

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