A clock stopped—not the mantel's

LIII.

ACLOCK 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.