Indolence.
131
Wild with the tempest's sublime exultation,
Lonely in Autumn's forlorn lamentation,
Hopeful and happy with Spring and the bee.
Lonely in Autumn's forlorn lamentation,
Hopeful and happy with Spring and the bee.
Indolent, indolent! are ye not indolent?
Thralls of the earth and its usages weary,
Toiling like gnomes where the darkness is dreary,
Toiling and sinning to heap up your gold!
Stifling the heavenward breath of devotion,
Crushing the freshness of every emotion;
Hearts like the dead which are pulseless and cold!
Thralls of the earth and its usages weary,
Toiling like gnomes where the darkness is dreary,
Toiling and sinning to heap up your gold!
Stifling the heavenward breath of devotion,
Crushing the freshness of every emotion;
Hearts like the dead which are pulseless and cold!
Indolent, indolent! art thou not indolent?
Thou who art living unloving and lonely,
Wrapped in a pall that will cover thee only,
Shrouded in selfishness, piteous ghost!
Sad eyes behold thee, and angels are weeping
O'er thy forsaken and desolate sleeping;
Art thou not indolent? art thou not lost?
Thou who art living unloving and lonely,
Wrapped in a pall that will cover thee only,
Shrouded in selfishness, piteous ghost!
Sad eyes behold thee, and angels are weeping
O'er thy forsaken and desolate sleeping;
Art thou not indolent? art thou not lost?
