The Clock! a sinister, impassive god
    Whose threatening finger says to us: 'Remember!
    Soon in your anguished heart, as in a target,
    Quivering shafts of Grief will plant themselves;

    Vaporous Joy glides over the horizon
    The way a sylphid flits into the wings;
    Each instant eats a piece of the delight
    A man is granted for his earthly season.

    Three thousand and six hundred times an hour
    The Second sighs, Remember! Suddenly
    That droning insect Now says: I am Past
    And I have sucked your life into my nostril!

    Esto memor! Remember! Souviens-toi!
    (My metal throat speaks out in a every language)
    Don't let the minutes, prodigal, be wasted
    They are the ore you must refine for gold!

    Remember, Time is greedy at the game
    And wins on every roll! perfectly legal.
    The day runs down; the night comes on; remember!
    The water-clock bleeds into the abyss.

    Son sounds the hour when Chance the heavenly,
    When Virtue the august, eternal virgin,
    When even (oh! your last retreat) Repentance,
    Will tell you: Die old coward! it's too late!'

   -Charles Baudelaire 1821-1867