 | Lord Vyet and Other Poems |  |
69
INDOLENCE
What, hath the dark surprised me as I dreamed?
The hours were mine: I neither swooned nor slept,
Only the slow shade o'er the dial crept,
And peace was thrice as peaceful as it seemed.
The hours were mine: I neither swooned nor slept,
Only the slow shade o'er the dial crept,
And peace was thrice as peaceful as it seemed.
Ah me! I have not earned the right to sleep,
Nor strung my thews for battle: I have spent
The hoarded coin that was for increase lent,
Dreamed of the harvest that I may not reap.
Nor strung my thews for battle: I have spent
The hoarded coin that was for increase lent,
Dreamed of the harvest that I may not reap.
Waste, trivial waste! fickle and fruitless moods,
Dear to the mind of God! Shall nature then
Bewail the helpless debt she cannot pay?
Petals that bloom, and fall, unseen of men:
Slow springs that drip in mountain solitudes,
Rocks that the sad sea sprinkles twice a day.
Dear to the mind of God! Shall nature then
Bewail the helpless debt she cannot pay?
Petals that bloom, and fall, unseen of men:
Slow springs that drip in mountain solitudes,
Rocks that the sad sea sprinkles twice a day.
| Lord Vyet and Other Poems | |