The Idle Hours have found me out once more,
preyed on my straying thoughts - to murk and mire
you've cast them down in chains; lured by your lyre
they pace across the starless moors and shore.
You candle – like the flame of time you glow -
absorbed, unflinching as the gleaner stern -
time's wax its cull; say, have I wax to burn
for Idle Hours - say are you friend of foe?
Once more these unembodied voices stir –
sighs from the depths, the legacy of years;
would I could - when their chorus drowns my ears -
could drink forgetfulness - sink in its blur.
Below waves break on these rocks exposed -
cold snarl of rocks - what hands could fashion you -
what deity such monstrous chaos hew -
while skies remain in majesty reposed?
The candle draws me back; away from me -
you Idle Hours - soft-summoned by this leisure,
weaving your web of half-indulgent pleasure -
away from me – you perilous luxury.