To a Pompadour Clock

Bright loves and tangled flowers

Adorn your china face;

You beat out silver hours

Within your golden case.

Still rings old Time's denial

Of respite in your tone,

But o'er your painted dial

Is built a little throne—

A throne so neat and narrow

Where, heedless of your chime,

Poising his gilded arrow

Sits Cupid killing Time!