Eight O'clock

A poem by Sara Teasdale

Supper comes at five o’clock,
At six, the evening star,
My lover comes at eight o’clock
But eight o’clock is far.

How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands laboring to bring
Eight o’clock to me.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Eight O'clock' by Sara Teasdale

comments powered by Disqus