I have known hours built like cities,
House on grey house, with streets between
That lead to straggling roads and trail off,
Forgotten in a field of green;
Hours made like mountains lifting
White crests out of the fog and rain,
And woven of forbidden music-
Hours eternal in their pain.
Life is a tapestry of hours
Forever mellowing in tone,
Where all things blend, even the longing
For hours I have never known.
About this Poem
"Hours" was originally published in Hall's 1921 collection "Curtains."
About Hazel Hall
Hall was born in St. Paul, Minn., in 1886. She published three books of poetry, including "Walkers" and "Cry of Time." Hall died in Portland, Ore., in 1924.
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This poem is in the public domain. Distributed by King Features Syndicate