THE LAPSE

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.

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 awhile

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.

The river's fine, I‘ m glad I came,

That poem‘ s teasing;

But health is better far than fame,

Though cheques are pleasing.

I do n't know what I did it for,—

This air‘ s a poppy.

I‘ m sorry for my editor,—

He‘ ll get no copy!