 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
97
PROCRASTINATION.
O weak, unstable mind! on purpose stillLags execution ever, like the hind
On the forewheel, which runs on like the wind
Ever away from thee! Still up the hill
Thou lazy creep'st, 'twixt “I won't” and “I will,”
To see thy purpose (almost as well blind)
Adown the facile slopes of wishes wind
Its futile way; whilst thou dost, gaping, spill
Life's golden sands. So runs the stream away
From him who thus beside it sits and dreams,
Who forward with it doth in fancy stray
And sees it turning mills, with deepening streams
Bearing its burdens and the heat of day;
While he, still purposing, in vacuo schemes!
| Stones from The Quarry | |