Poems about time encourage us to use our time wisely. Time helps us plan our day, know when to sleep, and wake up.
Time poetry is a special type of poetry that talks about feelings and thoughts about time.
It’s a way for people to express how they see moments passing, memories being made, and the changes happening around them.
Sometimes, poems about time encourage us to appreciate the present moment. They help us notice and appreciate the little things in our everyday lives.
Reminding us that the present is a gift. They freeze a feeling or a moment, so we can remember it and understand how it shaped us.
Let’s read some of the poems about time and share them with others
To Make Much of Time
By Robert Herrick
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry …
A Clock Stopped’.
By Emily Dickinson,
A Clock stopped –
Not the Mantel’s –
Geneva’s farthest skill
Can’t put the puppet bowing –
That just now dangled still …
I Look into My Glass’.
By Thomas Hardy
But Time, to make me grieve,
Part steals, lets part abide;
And shakes this fragile frame at eve
With throbbings of noontide …
Look Back On Time
Look back on time with kindly eyes,
He doubtless did his best;
How softly sinks his trembling sun
In human nature’s west!
Lines for a Sun-Dial
With shadowy pen I write,
Till time be done,
Good news of some strange light,
Some far off sun.
Sweet Hours Have Perished Here
By Emily Dickinson
Sweet hours have perished here;
This is a mighty room;
Within its precincts hopes have played, —
Now shadows in the tomb.
Time
“Sixty seconds make a minute,
Sixty minutes make an hour;”
If I were a little linnet,
Hopping in her leafy bower,
Then I should not have to sing it:
“Sixty seconds make a minute.”
What Do You Hold in Your Hand,
By Annette Wynne
What do you hold in your hand, New Year?
A sheaf of many hours—
Take them, hold them very dear,
Snow and rain and flowers;
You are blest if you but see
Sunshine through the showers.
Time
By William Shakespe
Time is very slow for those who wait;
very fast for those who are scared;
very long for those who lament;
very short for those who celebrate;
but for those who love, time is eternal.
Even Such is Time
By Sir Walter Raleigh
Even such is Time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days;
But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.
They Say That ‘Time Assuages
By Emily Dickinson
They say that ‘time assuages,’ —
Time never did assuage;
An actual suffering strengthens,
As sinews do, with age.
Time is a test of trouble,
But not a remedy.
If such it prove, it prove too
There was no malady.
A New Time-Table
Sixty seconds make a minute:
How much good can I do in it?
Sixty minutes make an hour,—
All the good that’s in my power.
Twenty hours and four, a day,—
Time for work, and sleep, and play.
Days, three hundred sixty-five
Make a year for me to strive
Eight good things for me to do,
That I wise may grow and true.
The Time-Brood
By John B. Tabb
I wonder how the mother-Hour
Can feed each hungry Minute,
And see that every one of them
Gets sixty seconds in it;
And whether, when she goes abroad,
She knows which ones attend her;
For all of them are just alike
In age and size and gender.
Misnomer
By Esther Crone
Nay! tell me not that the year grows old,
When it is made of newborn days;
It is like a book as the leaves unfold,
With the pages fresh always.
It does not decline, decay and die,
As the sages have long, long said,
The change that comes is in you and I,
It is we that grow old instead.
Time’s Paces
When as a child I laughed and wept,
Time crept.
When as a youth I waxed more bold,
Time strolled.
When I became a full grown man,
Time RAN.
When older still I daily grew,
Time FLEW.
Soon I shall find, in passing on,
Time gone.
O God! wilt Thou have saved me then?
Amen.
Time In My Hands
By Anonymous
Looking at my hands holding fistfuls of right now,
navigating the Purpose of hidden sweaty palms,
Bruised with the imprints of callous thoughts,
which have Fallen among the grains of forgotten sands.
Seeking for a Haven to rest my Brittle bones,
before the Granite of time begins to Shift,
my Comfort zone to a Small Fold in the universe,
torn in the corner of time and space of a Plastic dream.
Time Saunters forward as I open my fist waving goodbye,
to a life that no one can Contain in a million suns,
although we try to Lust after the fading shadow,
floating off in the Distance of another tomorrow.
The Gift Of Time
By Amos Russel Wells
The gift of time, God’s freest boon to men,
So steadily outpoured through days and years!
Thus ever let us yield it back again
ln liberal lives and consecrate careers.
The gift of time, for which no gold is weighed,
Nor least petition offered to the Lord,—
Shall He not still by gratitude be paid,
And all our thankful days be His reward?
The gift of time, fit measure of the heart
Wherewith our Father wholly loves His own,—
Be it a symbol of our lesser part,
Just to be wholly His, and His alone!
Thief and Giver
By Amos Russel Wells
Time’s a thief; he steals away
Many blossoms of to-day.
Joys he steals and also tears,
Pilfers hopes and filches fears.
May the rascal steal from you
Only what you want him to!
Time’s a giver and he brings
Sometimes weights and sometimes wings;
Now his gifts are lasting fair,
Now they vanish in the air.
May the rascal give to you
Only what you want him to!
Joyce Kilmer
Alarm Clocks’.
When Dawn strides out to wake a dewy farm
Across green fields and yellow hills of hay
The little twittering birds laugh in his way
And poise triumphant on his shining arm.
He bears a sword of flame but not to harm
The wakened life that feels his quickening sway
And barnyard voices shrilling ‘It is day!’
Take by his grace a new and alien charm.
But in the city, like a wounded thing
That limps to cover from the angry chase,
He steals down streets where sickly arc-lights sing,
And wanly mock his young and shameful face;
And tiny gongs with cruel fervor ring
In many a high and dreary sleeping place.
FAQS
Time’s Paces is a poem about the apparent speeding up of time as one gets older.
Time flies when you’re having fun!
Geoffrey Chaucer is known as the “Father of English Poetry”
Time is the ongoing sequence of events taking place.
Time slows down as you travel faster because momentum bends the fabric of spacetime causing time to pass slower.
This is all about Poems about time.