Oxford's oldest student newspaper

Independent since 1920


Tom W. McGrath ponders the passing of time in this impactful poem.

Was there anything I might have done,

To stay the thoughts that have a hold of you?

Too late in this—

My faults recited for me again,

(Though they are often in my thoughts).

I rue the lost hours and days:

A finite life, this one,

Each hour, once gone, is gone forever,

A series playing out, our course to run.

I’ve heard God is found in the divine present,

How pleasant is the life he leads,

Not his the anguish

And the pain of a fleeting hour,

Left in confusion and wasted.

Artwork by Amir Pichhadze.

Support student journalism

Student journalism does not come cheap. Now, more than ever, we need your support.

Check out our other content

Most Popular Articles