This poem must be done to-day;
Then, I’ll e’en to it.
I must not dream my time away,—
I’m sure to rue it.
The day is rather bright, I know
The Muse will pardon
My half-defection, if I go
Into the garden.
It must be better working there,—
I’m sure it’s sweeter:
And something in the balmy air
May clear my metre.
[In the Garden.]
Ah this is noble, what a sky!
What breezes blowing!
The very clouds, I know not why,
Call one to rowing.
The stream will be a paradise
To-day, I’ll warrant.
I know the tide that’s on the rise
Will seem a torrent;
I know just how the leafy boughs
Are all a-quiver;
I know how many skiffs and scows
Are on the river.
I think I’ll just go out a while
Before I write it:
When Nature shows us such a smile,
We should n’t slight it.
For Nature always makes desire
By giving pleasure;
And so ‘t will help me put more fire
Into my measure.
[On the River.]
The river’s fine, I’m glad I came,
That poem’s teasing;
But health is better by far than fame,
Though cheques are pleasing.
I don’t know what I did it for,—
This air’s a poppy.
I’m sorry for my editor,—
He’ll get no copy!
Previous
Next 
|
