Idle Blessedness
I KNOW not how it is, I have the knack,
In lazy moods, of seeking no excuse;
But holding that man’s ease must be the juice
Of man’s philosophy, I give the sack
To thought, and lounge at shuffle on the track
Of what employment seems of the least use:
And in such ways I find a constant sluice
For drowzy humours. Be thou loth to rack
And hack thy brain for thought, which may lurk there
Or may not. Without pain of thought, the eyes
Can see, the ears can hear, the sultry mouth
Can taste the summer’s favour. Towards the South
Let earth sway round, while this my body lies
In warmth, and has the sun on face and hair.
