It seems like time slips out of your hands. You wake up, and 2-3 years have passed.
Nothing is swifter than our years.
As you get older, the days have gone, and the years have gone, and it's 'whoosh!'
Oh, the years fly by, that's just natural.
For thogh we slepe, or wake, or rome, or ryde, Ay fleeth the tyme; it nyl no man abyde.
The steward, according to custom, had stopped all the clocks. This, in the language of Narouz, said "Your stay with us is so brief, let us not be reminded of the flight of the hours."
The hours trip rapidly away, hiding their dreams in their skirts.
Time goes by so fast. Nothin' can outrun it. Death commences too early--almost before you're half-acquainted with life--you meet the other.
Time meanwhile is flying, flying beyond recall.
Winged time glides on insensibly, and deceive us; and there is nothing more fleeting than years.
And God stands winding His lonely horn, And time and the world are ever in flight.
