Meditações - relógio a gás

Gasman, light that clock,
The time I cannot see;
It can’t be more then twelve,
And yet it looks like three!
Its hands are all confused,
Its numbers none can trace:
Say, is that humble clock
Ashamed to show its face?

It can’t be very late:
True – I’ve been out to sup;
But, ho! What says the clock!
Come gasman, light it up.
Say, can the mist be caused
By fumes of generous wine?
Is it three quarters past eleven,
Or is it only nine?
Is it half-after twelve,
Or six, or eight, or two?
That dismal rushlight kept inside
No good on earth can do.
When I go home to bed
I’m quite afraid to knock
If I’ve no notion of the hour –
So, gasman, light the clock.
in Punch (revista satírica britânica), de 5 de setembro de 1846