And This You Call Work

And this you call work is carefree existence--

Catching ere it's flown

What music has privately hinted,

And jestingly call it my own.And using another's blithe scherzo

For lines far too languid to run

To swear your poor heart is lamenting

In fields that smile back at the sun.And later, when pinewoods play trappist

Doing what bold eavesdroppers dare

While the fog's impalpable curtain

Hangs vaguely, as smoke on the air.Not feeling one qualm of conscience

I take things from left and right

Life is sly, but I take something from it

And all from the stillness of night.