 | A Flight of Fancies |  |
8
A HOUSEHOLDER
If clouds are torn and hailstones drop
Upon the tender lupin crop,
With solemn earnestness I go
Inside my little bungalow.
Upon the tender lupin crop,
With solemn earnestness I go
Inside my little bungalow.
I never take, when I retire,
A leaf and read it near a fire,
Because my dwelling-place is not
The sort that has a chimney-pot.
A leaf and read it near a fire,
Because my dwelling-place is not
The sort that has a chimney-pot.
I doubt if you could ever guess
How much I love my loneliness,
Without a saucepan in the house,
A hassock, breadknife, beetle, mouse.
How much I love my loneliness,
Without a saucepan in the house,
A hassock, breadknife, beetle, mouse.
Perhaps a sofa and a rug
May look, in other dwellings, snug,
But furniture can never be
Allowed in mine, because of me.
May look, in other dwellings, snug,
But furniture can never be
Allowed in mine, because of me.
If weatherbound, I do not fret,
Content to know that I shall get,
When thunder dies, a chance to roam,
Accompanied, of course, by home.
Content to know that I shall get,
When thunder dies, a chance to roam,
Accompanied, of course, by home.
9
In darkness, having eaten all
The food I need, I mount a wall
And write with silver-coloured ink
Whatever I may chance to think.
The food I need, I mount a wall
And write with silver-coloured ink
Whatever I may chance to think.
If you had had the luck to dwell
Inside a bungalow of shell,
You would have written thus your pale,
Yet captivating, Fairy-tale.
Inside a bungalow of shell,
You would have written thus your pale,
Yet captivating, Fairy-tale.
| A Flight of Fancies | |