That none beguiled be by Time's quick flowing,
Lovers have in their hearts a clock still going;
For, though time be nimble, his motions
Are quicker
And thicker.mw-parser-output .wst-pline{color:#2E8B57;font-size:83%}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-default2{margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-r{float:right;text-indent:0;margin-left:1em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-l{float:left;text-align:right;margin-left:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-or{float:right;text-align:right;margin-right:-3em;width:2.5em}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-n{font-style:normal}.mw-parser-output .wst-pline-i{font-style:italic}5
Where love hath his notions.
Hope is the main-spring on which moves desire;
And these do the less wheels, Fear, Joy, inspire:
The balance is Thought, evermore
Clicking10
And striking,
And ne'er giving o'er.
Occasion's the hand which still 's moving round,
Till by it the critical hour may be found;
And, when that falls out, it will strike15
Kisses,
Strange blisses,
And what you best like.