“At my dying hour, and over my long life, A clock strikes somewhere at the city’s edge. Rabindranath Tagore
“Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Upstairs and downstairs, in his nichtgown, Tirlin’ at the window, cryin’ at the lock, “Are the weans in their bed? for it’s now ten o’clock.” William Miller
“Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; And then the clock collected in the tower Its strength, and struck. A. E. Housman