Wakes with eyes half open.
soon sends the earth
the dust of idleness
with the sun arched too highly
to examine more glaringly,
men go-a-holiday.
like filtered through sad shades
blessed rays fail for treetops,
scarcely smouching the rock backs
it so pleasures.
for neglect the earth slowly repines;
many indulgent fires subdued,
and many broken bustle,
jilted lovers cast papers of avowal
to lament.
stirring hearts quiet under
the idle dust and it’s charm.
and so the great star trains
the bowful arch
to exhaust.