Idleness
Thomas Sturge Moore 1870 – 1944
O idleness, too fond of me,
Begone, I know and hate thee!
Nothing canst thou of pleasure see
In one that so doth rate thee;
For empty are both mind and heart
While thou with me dost linger;
More profit would to thee impart
A babe that sucks its finger.
I know thou hast a better way
To spend these hours thou squand'rest;
Some lad toils in the trough to-day
Who groans because thou wand'rest;
A bleating sheep he dowses now
Or wrestles with ram's terror;
Ah, 'mid the washing's hubbub, how
His sighs reproach thine error!
He knows and loves thee, Idleness;
For when his sheep are browsing,
His open eyes enchant and bless
A mind divinely drowsing;
No slave to sleep, he wills and sees
From hill-lawns the brown tillage;
Green winding lanes and clumps of trees,
Far town or nearer village,
The sea itself; the fishing feet
Where more, thine idle lovers,
Heark'ning to sea-mews find thee sweet
Like him who hears the plovers.
Begone; those haul their ropes at sea,
These plunge sheep in yon river:
Free, free from toil thy friends, and me
From Idleness deliver!
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 10, 2023
- 59 sec read
- 39 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | AAAA BCBC DBDX ECEC XFXF GHGH IJIJ ACAC |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic tetrameter |
Characters | 1,036 |
Words | 193 |
Stanzas | 8 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
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"Idleness" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 26 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/37139/idleness>.
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