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!
- by Thomas Sturge Moore20
SO faint, no ear is sure it hears, So faint and far; So vast that very near appears My voice, both here and in each star Unmeasured leagues do bridge between; Like that which on a face is seen Where secrets are; Sweeping, like veils of lofty balm, Tresses unbound O'er desert sand, o'er ocean calm, I am wherever is not sound; And, goddess of the truthful face, My beauty doth instill its grace That joy abound.
Poems by Thomas Sturge Moore, Thomas Sturge Moore's poems collection. Thomas Sturge Moore is a classical and famous poet (1870-1944 / England). Share all poems of Thomas Sturge Moore.