Dolce Far Niente

Sooth 'twere a pleasant life to lead,
With nothing in the world to do,
But just to blow a shepherd's reed,
The silent seasons thro':—
And just to drive a flock to feed,—
Sheep, — quiet, fond, and few!

Pleasant to breathe beside a brook.
And count the bubbles, love- worlds, there;
To muse within some minstrel's book.
Or watch the haunted air;—
To slumber in some leafy nook,—
Or idle anywhere.

And then, a draught of nature's wine,
A meal of summer's daintiest fruit;
To take the air with forms divine;
Clouds, silvery, cool, and mute;
Descending, if the night be fine,
In a star-parachute.

Give me to live with Love alone,
And let the world go dine and dress;
For Love hath lowly haunts — a stone
Holds something meant to bless.
If life's a flower, I choose my own—
'Tis
"Love in Idleness."