Posted on 1 January, 2021 by thebestnchic Eight Oclock by Sara Teasdale Supper comes at five oclock, At six, the evening star, My lover comes at eight oclock But eight oclock is far. How could I bear my pain all day Unless I watched to see The clock-hands laboring to bring Eight oclock to me. Share this:TwitterFacebookMoreLinkedInRedditTumblrPinterestWhatsApp Related Post navigationPrevious post: DriftwoodNext post: Epitaph